


Or any misery you choose

by ithoughtslashmeanthorror



Series: See how deep the bullet lies [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Bruce is trying, Gen, Jason Todd Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithoughtslashmeanthorror/pseuds/ithoughtslashmeanthorror
Summary: Bruce Wayne and Batman are no more.Now Bruce is just a man, in the car with a son who hates him, trying to figure out what went wrong.





	1. Departure

**Author's Note:**

> So, I finished Arkham Knight again (I completed it 100% (Most Wanted & Seasons of Infamy included) when I put Scarecrow away and I feel like that’s an accomplishment (because fucking Riddler!) and I had an idea for a Jason-Bruce story, because I feel like this is the one world where they could forgive each other and that’s something I’ve wanted for ages. Also, in my head, the Arkham Series takes place in the same universe as Gotham… Idk how Barbara still came to be and all that Ra's stuff, or whatever but I feel like it could flow. And Barbara joined Bruce when she was 14 and, like Young Justice, she’s the same age as Dick… But it’s not the Young Justice universe. I just like the age gapes in that.

From the top of Wayne Tower, Bruce could still see the blaze from Wayne Manor. The bombs had detonated over an hour ago, but the lack of facilities in the city – and the distinct lack of Firefighters – meant that all response teams were running slow. The Emergency Services had, had a hard-enough time keeping up all night to stop the mass array of criminals who joined forces. No one would be putting out the Wayne Manor fire any time soon.

“Here you go, Master Bruce.” Alfred stepped out of the office, holding a duffle bag and set of keys in his hand. Alfred was quite distraught, though his suit was still impeccably pressed. “Are you sure you do not wish for me to join you?” Alfred asked again. Lucius was sitting back against his desk, the same concern Alfred had written across his face. His clothes were dishevelled from Tommy’s attack.

“This is what needs to happen,” Bruce said lowly. “I will come back, Alfred. Just, give me time to figure it out.”

Alfred sighed and nodded his head. He stepped towards Bruce and rested his hand on his shoulder. “Be safe, Master Bruce. And do remember to call and check in.”

Bruce rested his hand on Alfred’s elbow and smiled, wearily. A heavy weight that had blanketed Bruce’s shoulders since he was a child had lifted the slightest bit. “I will, Alfred.”

Twenty minutes later, the rain smashing down on the asphalt, Bruce was in a nondescript Jeep driving to Metropolis. He needed to give some things to Clark before he left. He was already making a list of things to say to avoid one of Clark’s speeches when he was on the bridge that lead to Metropolis.

That’s when Bruce saw him.

Bag over his shoulder, head slumped down and eyes cast on the road in a brown leather jacket. His armour had been discarded. The broken red helmet was under his arm and even though he had helped Batman save Gotham, he looked utterly defeated standing in the pouring rain.

Bruce pulled up on the side of the road just behind him. He killed the engine, but left the high beams on.

Jason stopped and turned.

Those bright blue eyes squinted against the light and the ‘J’ burnt on his cheek disappeared from his face. For a second, he was just the kid who had stolen the tyres from the Batmobile, confused when Batman tracked him to his house in Crime Alley. Jason’s face fell when he saw exactly who was in the car. His eyes flickered back and forth to the woods down the road behind the car. He was thinking about running.

Bruce wasn’t sure what he was thinking. The night had been long and it wasn’t even dawn yet. He was tired and groggy, so he beeped the horn and nodded to the passenger’s seat. Because Dick had taken some bad blows from Penguin, and Tim had been shot and almost died, and Barbara looked almost as bad as she had when she’d been paralysed, but it all paled in comparison compared to what he had felt when Jason had shown himself to be under the Knight’s helmet.

The anger and loathing he’d felt towards the vigilante, died in that second, and all he had wanted to do was take Jason home, batten down all the hatches, and never let him out of his sight again.

Of course, now there was no home. Not anymore.

Jason was still staring at him, slack jawed and looking more like a child than he had a right to. Jason had always been independent, but sometimes he needed more prompting than the other boys. So Bruce leant over the car seat and opened the door. After a minute wherein, no doubt, Jason calculated his chances of escaping from the centre of the bridge, he decided to get into the car. He pulled his bag and helmet onto his lap and shut the door, shaking like the timbers in an abandoned home.

Silently, Bruce turned on the heater as high as it would go and reached out for Jason’s bag and helmet from his lap. Jason poised himself, ready for an attack. Bruce waited, showing him his empty hand then, slowly took his things and carefully put them in the back seat. He pulled out a blanket Alfred had put there in case Bruce wanted to sleep in the car, and wrapped it around Jason’s shoulders the way he had when Jason was sick and a kid. “Thanks,” he mumbled, leaning back in his seat. He huddled up in the blankets, still shaking from the rain but with colour returning to his cheeks.

Bruce still couldn’t believe what he was seeing. After everything The Joker had shown him and after everything he had thought and punished himself for, the fact Jason was sitting beside him – a little broken and very hurt, but nonetheless, _alive_ and _breathing_ – was overwhelming. He held up his hand and Jason recoiled into the door. Bruce paused only long enough to show him he wasn’t trying to hurt him. He let his hand slide into his rain flattened hair and pushed it off his forehead and back. “Jason,” he murmured, hand sliding down his face and to his shoulder.

He was there. He was solid and alive and _sitting right next to him,_ exactly where he belonged. Where his son had always belonged. Bruce didn’t know what else to say apart from his name – a name he had avoided for so long.

Jason just stared at him like he was seeing a ghost – which was ironic considering it was Jason who had _died_. There was a note of disbelief on his face. As though he couldn’t quite believe he was there either. He remembered the hatred in Jason’s eyes when he first pulled off the helmet and the venom in the words he spoke. _He thought I forgot about him. He thought I didn’t want him._ Bruce squeezed his shoulder. “Rest a bit. It’s been a long night,” Bruce said.

Jason nodded once and sunk further into the car seat while Bruce started the engine again and continued to Metropolis. Jason kept staring at him until his eye lids became too heavy and he fell asleep. He had his hand rested on Jason’s knee, wet but warm and real. Jason’s hand found its way over his sometime while he was asleep.

There would be time to talk later. For now, Bruce was just content to have his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come, but how did you like? I'm shit at grammar. You can help me in the comments if you like; helps me learn.


	2. Metropolis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go...

Jason woke up as they hit Metropolis morning traffic. He startled and Bruce glanced over but paid him no real mind. He wanted him to be comfortable and let him come around and realise what had happened in his own time. He knew when emotions ran high, sleep could give the illusion that the memories weren’t real. He’d woken up many times not quite knowing where he was after an emotionally charged night. Jason needed to adjust. Bruce needed to adjust too, but he could put aside his own feelings.

He was good at that.

He could see Jason’s thoughts whirling. He could almost see them on his face as he remembered Gotham, Scarecrow, his unmasking, the car ride… He looked out the window and must have deduced they were in Metropolis. It was cleaner than Gotham. Perkier too. It wasn’t Bruce’s favourite city in the world, but it was by far safer than Gotham, even with all of Superman’s archenemies in the place. Gothamites had built their city out of fear, while Metropolis built theirs out of hope. He wondered how Jason saw it, compared to their previous evening.

From the cup holder in the middle of the dashboard, Bruce pulled out a coffee and held it out in front of Jason’s nose. “I figured you still drink black, one sugar.”

Jason swallowed and took the cup. “Three sugars,” he said, voice coarse. He was still damp and, even though Metropolis was warmer, Bruce had left the heater on so Jason wouldn’t get sick. It seemed that he was getting sick anyway.

“One is better for you,” Bruce muttered and the familiarity of the argument crept into his throat and bloomed across his chest. It must have struck Jason too because he stared into the bottom of his coffee with a frown. Coffee was always okay – Bruce might as well have put his in an IV bag, so couldn’t lecture any of the boys when they drank it as kids – but Bruce had tried to act like a parent when it came to Jason’s sugar intake. If left on his own, Jason would eat nothing but candy and hotdogs, and call it a meal. He checked Jason out and he looked like crap. Pale faced, purple eyes and still wet. “I’ll take you to one of my safe houses here. You can have a hot shower. Sleep. I just need to go talk to Clark and then we’ll go.”

“Where?” he asked.

“Not too far from the Daily Planet.”

“No. Where will you go?”

Bruce’s heart skipped when Jason said _you_ and not  _we_ , but he didn’t show it on his face. “I have a place. In Mazatlán, Mexico.”

A flicker of a smile showed on Jason’s face. “Cliché much?”

Bruce smiled, drinking his coffee. “I like the beach.”

Jason raised his eyebrow. “You do?” He sounded surprised. He searched through his memories and he couldn’t find a single time he’d ever taken Jason to the beach. There had been once. With Dick. But he’d been only ten and it was the anniversary of his parent’s death. Jason had been eleven when he’d come to Bruce, but had been more set in his own ways. Fixing cars was how he cheered Jason up.

“Yeah.” When he was a child, he went to the beach with his parents every summer. It had always been such an exciting place and he could never remember leaving. Just his mother’s hands through his hair as the sun set behind them and waking up in the car, halfway back to Gotham, nose burnt, and his father humming to the radio.

“You’re really leaving Gotham?” Jason asked.

“For now.” It was the only answer he could give him for the time being. Bruce turned off the main road and drove to his place. It was in the city, and just one stop on the subway from the Daily Planet. He parked in the garage and helped Jason with his bag.

It was heavy.

Too heavy to be clothing.

“Is this just your armour?” he asked as they climbed up the four flights of stairs. The apartment was on the top floor. Much easier to swing into via grappling hook.

Jason gave him a sidelong expression. “Weapons. Armour.”

“Clothes?” Bruce asked.

“Just the ones on my back.”

Bruce nodded once and reached the top floor. He opened the door and let Jason inside first. He put the bags down beside the door. The apartment was the bare necessities. It was just meant to be a place for him to stay when he was in town, so he could avoid Lois’s smiles and open invitation to stay in the guest room. He had access to the Batcomputer from the laptop and there was a television, lounge, and a small kitchenette.

“The bathroom is through there and there are spare clothes in the drawers. Most of them are brand new. You know how Alfred likes to keep these places stocked.” Jason nodded and put his helmet on the couch, eyes looking around like he had when he’d first arrived at the manor. On his cheek was a blossoming bruise. Bruce didn’t remember giving that to him, but the guilt still ate at his stomach. “There’s a first aid kit too. Below the bathroom sink.”

Jason frowned, opening his mouth to say something and there was a glint in his eyes that showed it was no doubt, scathing. But he looked up at Bruce and the moment their eyes connected, all that anger died. He wasn’t sure, what had happened to Jason exactly. It had been so long since he’d seen him. So long since he’d had to gauge what those terribly expressive eyes were trying to hide. He knew he wasn’t forgiven but at the same time, Jason had saved him and saved Gotham by letting him out of those cuffs.

When the anger died, Jason returned his focus to the room. He was counting the exits and fear hit Bruce in his gut. “Will you be here?” he asked. Jason’s attention snapped to Bruce. “When I get back?”

Jason opened his mouth then shut it again, brow furrowed in serious thought. “I… I don’t know.” The ‘J’ burnt into his face crinkled and stretched as he spoke. It looked uncomfortable and a dark thought rose within him that if he could let The Joker die again, he would.

Bruce squeezed his hand over the doorknob, pushing that darkness down into the pit of his gut. “Sleep. I’ll bring back lunch. If you still want to go then, I won’t stop you. But don’t go while you’re still exhausted.” He went to the kitchen sink and took out a bottle of water and two vitamins from the cupboard, chugging them down.

“Why?” Jason asked, his voice cracking. Whether it was from the rain, the exhaustion, or emotion, it didn’t matter. He knew what Jason was asking. He didn’t have an answer. A big part of him was still bone tired from the night before, shell-shocked from the fact he got rid of The Joker and buzzing on Fear Toxin and adrenalin. When he couldn’t say a word, Jason’s features grew larger and angrier. His mouth twisted into something unrecognisable as he hissed, “I’m not him. I’m not _your_ Jason.”

Bruce nodded once stiffly, heading back to the door. “Maybe. But you’re still _my_ son.” He half stepped outside and gave Jason one last fixed stare. Jason had his fists shaking in tight little balls by his side, but Bruce ignored it. “I’ll be back soon. Get some sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think. :) Again, Suck at grammar and I'm dyslexic. So if you see something, give a shout out.


	3. City of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you all seem to be enjoying this... I'm on holidays and decided to write something. The updates will probably come in slower as of next week, but for now here is the next chapter.

Bruce stretched his shoulders out and shifted his mass around in his unfamiliar clothing. He had on a dark hooded jacket, a baseball cap, and sunglasses. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the last time he’d worn jeans that were so shredded, but he was sure it was sometimes when he was dating Selina when they were teenagers – when they were adults and tried dating, clothes were rarely worn at all.

He smiled at that thought and it was the first time he had smiled while thinking about anything in a long while. Was the cowl really that heavy? There was a part of him that knew that he would have to take it up again. Gotham needed a protector and Robin, Nightwing, Oracle and Jim wouldn’t be able to hold down the city together. But for the first time since his parents died, he felt like he had avenged them. That, for the briefest of moments, while all the Rogue’s were incarcerated and the rest of the criminals were running scared, he’d brought the peace to Gotham that his parents had wanted. It came at a mighty price. Hundreds of innocent lives were lost. More were destroyed, his own included. But for the first time in a long time, Bruce felt as if he could breathe again.

Maybe it was the perkiness of Metropolis rubbing off on him.

There was something about the city. It was clean, with white pavements and white buildings, and bright bushy trees growing in little planters and lining everything. People were unnaturally friendly, and maybe it was because they had a superhero who was unnaturally friendly. So unnaturally friendly, that it was a little off-putting sometimes, but Bruce tried not to hold that against him.

He went into the Daily Planet and asked one of the secretaries to call Clark Kent for Alfred Pennyworth. In the main foyer on the bottom level, hundreds of televisions lined the walls and on each of them, was a news presenter, showing images from helicopter cameras spinning around Gotham. His eyes automatically found Vicki’s channel and her blonde features were perfectly schooled. He couldn’t hear her voice but read the subtitles beneath on the screen.

“After the gruelling night of cleaning up, the streets of Gotham have been reopened thanks to Batman. While many are praising his efforts and ultimate sacrifice to save Gotham, the latest speech from our Mayor seems to condemn the actions of Bruce Wayne, who was forced to reveal himself as the masked vigilante to save our city, again. There are currently warrants out for Bruce Wayne’s arrest and capture, even though there were more than fifty journalists, cameras and news crews outside his Manor that can confirm Bruce Wayne’s tragic death.” Vicki’s mouth was in a hard line, her eyes bright with anger. His heart went out to her. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone with his decision but there it was, as plain as day, the pain on her face.

She thought the two men she had always been fascinated with, Bruce Wayne and Batman, were dead and buried. _I’m sorry, Vicki._

His attention was pulled away from the screen as the receptionist called for him. “Level ten, Mr Pennyworth.” Bruce went up the crowded elevator, pressed against the back wall so no one would turn and look at him. He didn’t remove his sunglasses as he got off and took the familiar route towards Clark’s office. For a long while Clark was the only person Bruce would do sit down interviews with. He only hoped no one realised the connection between him and Clark and chalked it up to any connection with Superman.

He opened the door and stopped short.

Clark wasn’t alone.

Barry, Oliver, Diana, Hal, Arthur, and Lois were all standing around Clark’s desk, and the moment he was spotted, Diana strode across the room and wrapped his arms around him. He hugged her back and may have squeezed tighter than he should have, but quickly let her go all the same. “I’m fine, Diana.” Bruce took off his glasses and cap and nodded around the room to greet the others, all dressed in their civvies. “I see a meeting was called.”

“You got us. We were planning your birthday behind your back.” Barry clapped Bruce on his back.

“What happened last night?” Arthur asked. “The news even reached Atlantis.”

“Too much… I still haven’t slept.” He pocketed his sunglasses and managed to squeeze his hat in the inside of his jacket. Oliver had his arms crossed over his chest and was assessing Bruce with a keen eye. He was sort of Bruce’s equal opposite in Star City, only, much like Metropolis, the city had hope. “Oh, by the way, Jack Ryder is coming after you. Oliver Queen, you, not Green Arrow.”

Ollie wore a thin tight smile. “Cause that’s all I need. A nosy reporter who prefers commentating on other people’s lives than having his own.” He stopped and flashed a grin at Clark and Lois. “No offence.”

“Oh no, please. Continue trashing my profession,” Lois said dryly. Clark just smiled at her, standing up to a room of Superheroes. When Oliver tried to win her over with a charming grin, Lois rolled her eyes and looked back at Bruce. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. All of you, really didn’t have to congregate.” Bruce felt something bubble inside of him, like embarrassment. He didn’t need them looking out for him like a worrisome little brother. He was older than most of them, anyway.  Well, Barry, Oliver and Hal anyway. Not that, that would make a difference. He acquiesced that if a siege had befallen anyone of their cities, Bruce would have done the same. “Thank you.”

“So the secrets out,” said Clark. “Now what?”

Bruce sighed. “Now, I hide for a while. Until things calm down.”

“Atlantis is always open to you, my friend. No one will find you there,” Arthur said. And while that may have been true, Bruce winced. He liked being on beaches, not under them.

“Thanks, but I have a place. I just came to give Clark this.” From his pocket, Bruce withdrew a thumb drive and handed it over. Clark inspected it. “The Justice League Database. The cave is still there and so are the servers, but it’s for Dick to run now. This will connect you to them in case you need direct access and they’re otherwise occupied.” Bruce handed it over and Clark inspected it in his hands.

“Do Dick and Tim know you’re alive?” Clark asked.

Bruce avoided answering with a hard glare. He hadn’t told them, no. But it was to keep them safe. The two adopted sons of Bruce Wayne were going to be investigated. Hell, Jason’s death was going to be reinvestigated, and only Alfred knew about him. Things were going to come to light and it was much easier if Bruce was dead to all of them, than to some of them. “When things die down, I’ll go back,” he said again.

“Jesus, Bruce,” Barry sighed. “Well I’ll tell Wally to go check up on Dick then.”

“Roy too,” Oliver then added, “If he’s talking to me this week.”

“And we’ll get in contact with Kon, for Tim,” Lois said and Clark nodded in agreement.

Again, the warm flush of embarrassment of having his… friends, take care of his family hit him in the chest. “There’s something you’re not saying.” Diana knew him too well, sometimes and he remembered the first time meeting the Amazonian Princess and how he’d been stunned by her attuned senses that didn’t need computers or gear. She didn’t even have x-ray vision and she could see right through Bruce. “What happened with the Arkham Knight? We all saw it on television. He just… disappeared and Slade showed up.”

But he didn’t just disappear. He was down the road, in Bruce’s safe house – hopefully. “He’s alive,” Bruce said. He didn’t know what else to say. “Slade’s in lockup.”

“But the Knight? Is he looking for you?” Hal asked.

“The man did seem adamant to kill you. Should we be worried?” Arthur looked genuinely concerned. All of them did. _He’s not a man. He’s a boy. A child._ My _child._ But he didn’t know what they would think. He knew that Clark had disapproved of Jason, who had shown how reckless he was with life on plenty of occasions before his ‘death’. Even though he treated him no differently to Dick, he had never been okay with Bruce making him Robin. When he had died, Bruce had been waiting for him to say, ‘I told you so’. Of course it never came, and Clark may never even have thought it, but Bruce felt it whenever the subject of Jason was brushed upon.

“He saved me,” Bruce said. _So many times, he’s saved my life. Not just tonight. But when he was Robin._ Before _he was Robin. All he’s ever done was save me._ “He’s going to be okay.” He had to be. “I’m helping him.” Bruce was going to make sure of it. Even if Jason left before he got back, he would make sure he was going to get better.

 _You left me to rot in that abandoned wing of Arkham… for over a year! With HIM!_ “Who is he?” Lois asked, her journalistic eye as keen as ever.

Bruce clenched his jaw shut and Diana laid her hand on his shoulder. “Bruce, we’re trying to help. You don’t need to do this alone. You didn’t need to take on Gotham alone either, last night. You could have called us.”

He shrugged his shoulders, her hand falling to her side. “I don’t need help. Not with this.” Bruce pulled his cap back on. “I’ll be back one day. I just need to handle some things.” He slid his glasses back on too and Clark opened his mouth to say something but Bruce cut him off. “If you want to help, check up on Alfred occasionally. His whereabouts are on the drive.” He turned his back on them, some of his only true friends to hurry back to the apartment.

* * *

After leaving the Daily Planet, Bruce went and found Big Belly Burger, ordering the largest milkshake, fries, a burger and a chilli dog, all for Jason, and a smaller meal for himself. He hadn’t been gone for long. An hour and a half at the most. But the first thing Bruce heard as he entered, were the soft snores of Jason that he’d reacquainted himself with during the car ride, coming from the spare bedroom. Occasionally there was a small hitch in his breathing, a twitching face or a frowning brow; but he wasn’t screaming. Not yet at least. He could imagine there were screams. There wouldn’t have been as much pain on his face at Killinger’s if there hadn’t been.

The scent of cigarettes became stronger as he got closer to Jason’s room. The first time he caught Jason, sitting half outside his window, smoking came back to him. He had been fourteen and Bruce had come home early from patrol. He had suspected it for a while at that point, and he remembered how flustered Jason had been trying to put it out and burnt his fingers clumsily. And how awkward it had been ensuring his fourteen-year-old son wore his nicotine patches.

He closed the door as quietly as possible and put the food on the table. He seemed to remember Jason never minded eating them while they were cold. He also remembered a time where Jason was convinced he wouldn’t be fed every time Bruce got angry at him. Alfred found a pantry worth of food beneath his bed.  Withholding food was never a punishment for Jason like it was for Dick – namely cereal in Dick’s case.

He went into the room, pushing open the door the slightest bit. Jason was always a light sleeper so it was a testament to his exhaustion that he didn’t jolt awake. His hair was damp again, but he’d showered and was wearing some of Bruce’s clothes that he’d scrounged out of the drawers. He still had a frown on his face and made tiny little hisses and moans.

Nightmares.

Bruce could only imagine them.

If Jason wanted to have a fitful sleep, he would need to feel safe again. He remembered how long it took him the first time, when it was just Willis and Catherine’s neglect and living on the streets that he had to deal with.

Bruce went over to Jason’s bed and sighed at the pain etched into his face. “Jason… Jay.” He moved his hand down to touch his shoulder, but Jason’s unseeing eyes flew open before he could get near.

Jason’s hand latched onto Bruce’s wrist and in one move, pulled him down and pinned him on the bed, hands tight around his neck. His face was filled with rage and hatred, burning red as he squeezed the air out of Bruce’s lungs.

“Jason… Jason,” Bruce reached his hands up, grabbing at his shoulders. He only had a few seconds of air left and Jason was stuck in his dreams. “Son,” he groaned. Whether it was Bruce’s words or just the sleep wearing off, Jason chose then to wake up and his eyes lost their glaze. But his fingers didn’t let go.

They tightened.

Then all at once, he snapped out of it. He yanked back like Bruce burnt him, falling off the bed, slamming into the wall. Bruce took a deep breath and sat up slowly too.

Jason was half propped up from where he fell back against the wall, staring at Bruce like he was the mirage. His memories were catching up to him again and Bruce wondered how bad the nightmares were that they were holding him so deep in his subconscious. But he had seen what Joker did to Jason. He’d only relived it the night before.

“Jason–”

“Shut up!” he shouted Bruce stopped as Jason pressed the palms of his hands into his eyeballs. “What the fuck am I doing?” he hissed, mostly to himself. “What am I…?” He pushed himself up off the floor and grabbed his bag, which had been on the chair. He was throwing his jacket around his shoulders when Bruce got up.

“Where are you going to go?”

Jason didn’t even look at him. “Shut up.”

“Jason, I need you to tell me–”

“Just shut up!” Jason shouted, covering his hands over his ears and his hands moving up to his hair. “I can’t listen to you right now… Jesus Christ, Bruce. I tried to kill you last night! I tried killing you just then. What are you doing? What am I doing here? Why did I…?” He made a pained noise and his tensed up fist slammed into the wall and through it. He yanked his hand back, plaster scraping his skin off and blood sliding down his wrist. He acted like it was nothing. Like the pain wasn’t there. He stared blankly at the blood as if it was detached from his being, then grabbed his bag to leave.

“Jason. Son!” Bruce tried to follow him but Jason spun around and snarled, like a vicious dog.

“I am _not_ your son,” he growled.

“Agree to disagree.” His voice came out hoarse. It ached from Jason’s attack.

“You _replaced_ me,” Jason snapped.

“I didn’t!”

“I was barely gone before another kid was in my suit!”

“No. I thought you were dead and Tim came to me. I wasn’t even looking for a Robin.”

“You didn’t even look for me!” Jason raged, beating his chest.

“I looked everywhere. Even after I thought you were dead,” Bruce said, keeping his voice as steady as he could as it shook with everything he’d held down for so long.

Jason narrowed his eyes, a flicker of madness burning bright. “You’re lying. I saw. Joker showed me!”

“Joker showed both of us lies. He made me think you were dead and he made you think I didn’t care.” Bruce reached out and took Jason’s shoulders. “If I had known, do you really honestly believe I would have given up? I throw myself into the line of fire for people I don’t know. Don’t you think I didn’t tear down Gotham for you?” Jason was shaking and he looked delirious. Like he was about to crack.

“Let’s take it slowly.” Bruce squeezed his shoulders, rubbing them just the slightest to calm him down. “I woke you up to eat. You need to eat. You need to rest. You’re hurt, Jason. Come on. _Come on_.” Bruce coaxed him from the ledge, pulling him back to earth. Pulling him closer. Pulling him until his face hit Bruce’s shoulder and his hand could go around Jason’s back. A part of him was overwhelmed that he was holding him again. Holding his son in his arms. But the more clinical part of his brain told him not to overwhelm the already unbalanced Jason.

The scar on his face scratched Bruce’s neck as he turned his head, and despite not wanting to overwhelm him, Bruce couldn’t help pressing his nose into Jason’s hair. He smelt like nicotine, gunpowder, motor oil, and toothpaste. Not quite the same as when he was seventeen, but almost. He was there, somewhere underneath all of that pain. Jason shuddered and Bruce rubbed his hand up and down his back. He didn’t hold Bruce back, but he didn’t run either.

It gave Bruce hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviewers make better lovers... Or so I'm told.


	4. Somewhere in Texas...

After eating their Big Belly Burgers in silence, Bruce had two more coffees, and then they were back on the road. Jason was in the passenger seat, looking out the window. Even though he could have left when Bruce said he was going back onto the road, Jason followed him to the car and climbed in.

He had been quiet the entire ride.

Bruce wished he would fall asleep. He was holding his ribs and his eyes were trying to shut, but he held them open, like a sentry on nightshift.

Bruce wasn’t fairing much better, but he could stay awake for a little while longer. It had been over twenty-four hours since he’d last slept, but Bruce had made it seventy-two hours before he crashed when looking for Jason. Since he had him back, he didn’t think he could sleep again.

“Can you drive through Durango?” Jason’s voice cracked from disuse. Bruce didn’t even glance at him.

“Why Durango?” Bruce’s fingers squeezed the steering wheel. He tried not to let it bother him. That Jason was already looking for an escape.

“Why Mazatlán?” Jason asked. He dug his hand into his jacket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a matchbook.

Bruce had learnt some things from Dick over the years about how to be a father. Whenever Bruce fell short, whether it was with Tim or Jason or even Barbara, he always told him what he should have done. Which is why he knew that he had to pick his battles and give Jason an honest answer. The cigarettes weren’t the biggest issue Jason had, and honesty was most probably better than a lie or no reason at all. “It was Talia’s.”

Jason didn’t look away from out the window, but Bruce could see his shoulders tense up. He curled in on himself and struck the match, lighting up the cigarette. He rolled down the window and blew the smoke outside at least. “Yeah,” Jason glanced back at him. “The League have wills? Does it come as a package deal when you sign up, or something?”

He wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer. “It was one of her safe houses. I’m not sure why she left it for me after she died, but I haven’t been there yet. It was always too soon, and when it wasn’t there was too much going on. I’m sure the authorities are raiding every property under my name, so it’s the safest place I could think of.”

“I heard The Joker killed her,” Jason said after another inhale. “And then you killed The Joker.” Jason’s legs were already pulled up onto the seat, which was some feat considering he almost matched Bruce in height, but he somehow managed to shrink further into himself. “You killed The Joker for your girlfriend, but you just locked him away for your son. Locked him away, mind you, with me.”

Jason could have punched him and it wouldn’t have hurt so much. Bruce was starting to worry the leather on the steering wheel. “It wasn’t like that.”

“What happened then? I’m killed, you move on. Talia’s killed, you break necks. Am I missing something?” Jason muttered. He was almost to the butt, he smoked so fast.

“I didn’t break his neck. The Joker was dying,” Bruce said. “I had the cure but he tried to kill me for it. The cure broke. The Joker died. I didn’t kill him.”

Jason’s hand tightened into a fist. “So you made him the cure?” he spat. “You were going to save The Joker?”

“I–” Bruce couldn’t explain it, but he tried anyway. “I know this won’t make sense to you, but I can’t just start killing people. No matter how badly I want to.”

“Why not?” Jason snapped. “If you had killed The Joker when you’d first met him, do you know how many lives would be saved? Mine, Barbara’s, half of Gotham. None of that stuff would have happened!”

“Do you know how many lives would have perished?” Bruce demanded. “I could have been thrown into Arkham right alongside Penguin, and Two-Face. Or I could have been killed myself. I wouldn’t have adopted Dick or Tim or you–”

“I think my life would have turned out just fine then,” he said with a cruel bite to his words. He flicked the cigarette out of the window and rolled it back up.

Bruce could feel the leather shift over the steering wheel under his hands. “I can’t kill, Jason. Because if I do, I won’t stop. I won’t be able to draw a line. The Joker would be in the same category as bank robbers and wife abusers and then half of Gotham would be dead anyway.”

“At least it would be the shitty half instead of the good ones for a change,” Jason growled. He did that a lot. Growled. He had always been angry but before, Jason laughed at most things. At villains, at danger, at death.

He wanted to hear him laugh again.

“Why Durango?” Bruce asked again, calming down. _Don’t escalate the situation,_ Dick’s voice told him. _You’ll just make it worse._

Jason flinched and Bruce wanted to reach out and take away his pain. “I know people there,” he murmured. He opened his cigarette packet and flipped it over but nothing fell out. “People who can get me jobs.”

“Mercenary jobs?”

“Are there another kind for people like me?” Jason asked. He threw the cigarette packet onto the dashboard in frustration.

Bruce smiled fondly as a conversation with Alfred about Jason’s future came back to him. “Alfred and I always thought you would work with kids. At a school or in a drop-in centre. He made a list of colleges where you could study social work and teaching.”

Jason frowned. “I held a city under siege last night. I don’t think I can go be a kindergarten teacher.”

“You can go back and do whatever you want. The only people who know it was you, are Jim, Alfred, and I.”

“Don’t make it sound so easy,” Jason hissed.

“It won’t be. But it’s probably easier than whatever is waiting for you in Durango. Living life as a merc is no life for a twenty-two-year-old, Jason. No matter how good they are at it.”

Jason made a face. “I’m twenty-three.”

Bruce tapped the steering wheel. “No you’re not.”

Jason didn’t try arguing with him again.

* * *

 

It was somewhere near Texas that Bruce really needed to sleep. He told Jason as much as he glanced at Bruce, eyebrow raised. “When was the last time you did sleep, old man?”

A flicker of a smile at the nickname showed on his exhausted face. “The night before The Siege.”

Jason cursed and leant over to grab the GPS. He scrawled through and found the closest motel and directed Bruce there. They checked in and threw their bags down in their rooms. Jason stood awkwardly to the side as Bruce went and fell on top of the closest floral covered bed. “Do you need anything?” Jason asked, unsurely from the wall.

“No. Thanks.”

“Okay.” Jason went and sat on the second bed and sat back against the headboard. Bruce looked across the room at Jason and the way he held himself in a tight ball, against the headboard. He was still holding his ribs. He was still hurting. Jason turned his head and looked back down at him. “Go to sleep. Weren’t you telling me off about rest and shit yesterday? I watched you get shot a couple dozen times. What makes you think you’re exempt?”

“I wasn’t telling you off,” Bruce said softly, still staring at him.

“Yeah. Sure. And I’m Mother Teresa.”

Bruce closed his eyes. “One day, when you have children, you’ll understand.” He couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to see the surprise on Jason’s face.

* * *

 

His dreams were plagued by The Joker, but not The Joker trying to take over Bruce. It was him, in Arkham with Jason. Taunting him. Hurting him.

Bruce was watching all of it but whenever he tried to get near, something stopped him. Whenever he tried to call for Jason, he couldn’t hear. Jason turned into Dick. Then Tim. Then Barbara. Then Jason again, only he wore his Arkham Knight uniform. “You didn’t save me?” Jason screamed. “Why didn’t you save me?!” His broken scream tore through Bruce’s cerebral and woke him up.

It was well after midnight and Bruce was alone. He was sat bolt up and looked around the unlit bedroom. He turned the light on to confirm what his pounding heart was telling him.

Jason wasn’t there. His bag and helmet were both gone. He’d left.

He cursed and got up, grabbing the car keys from his front pocket and his own bag. He ran out of the room and came to a stop. His car was gone too. No doubt, hot-wired.

Jason was gone and if he still went to Durango, he had how many hours’ head start and if he didn’t, Bruce had no idea where he was. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep, or he should have asked Jason to drive them. He wanted more time. He _needed_ more time!

Bruce realised his fingernails were digging raw marks into his palms and took a deep breath, relaxing himself.

It was two in the morning.

The car was gone. Jason was gone. He had to regroup before he moved on.

Without another option, he went back into the room.

He knew plenty of people who would be awake, and plenty more who could find him, but he didn’t want any of them. He pressed his palms to his face like Jason had the day before, to relieve the pressure built up behind his eyes. _He was right here. I was getting to him. I could make him trust me again._

_I probably would have failed him again._

Bruce wasn’t sure what he was doing. He never had when it came to being a parent. He had failed Dick. Failed Tim. Failed Barbara, and he wasn’t even her father.

He didn’t know what he was planning on doing or how he was going to help Jason. Just that he knew he had to. More than avenge his parent’s death, more than fix Gotham, Bruce had to do something to ease the burning pain he saw in his eyes.

But he had run away. Again.

He internally shuddered as he thought of what had happened last time Jason had runaway and the desire to find him. Without really thinking about what he was doing, Bruce pulled out his burner phone and started dialling a number that wasn’t saved inside. It was the only person he could think of who could help him with Jason, because it was the only person – apart from Bruce and Alfred – who cared that much about him. He hadn’t ever had to try and memorise that number. It had been burnt into his memory since he was thirteen – although, it had changed from time to time, but dialling it always came out of muscle memory.

On the fourth ring, an annoyed voice answered. “This better be someone good.”

“I don’t know about that,” Bruce replied.

“Bruce?” Selina’s surprised voice turned into a curse. “Hold on.” There were noises in the background, of kicks and shouts and the tell-tale crack of a whip. “Don’t hang up.” Came the breathless order and Bruce waited patiently, short gasps and huffs in his ear as she fought through her comm.

When the final blow was struck, Selina sighed long and slow, until her breath was deep and even. “Now that that’s over… I thought you were dead.”

“Apologies,” he said.

“You could have told me this was what you were planning.”

Bruce smiled through the phone. “So what? You could stop me?”

“So I could join you!” Selina snapped and he could hear her distinct heels clacking in the background as she left whatever crime scene she’d just created. “You know I would have come too.”

“I don’t think that would have been a great idea… Not with how it turned out.” Bruce rubbed his face. “The Arkham Knight was Jason.”

Selina’s heel clacking stopped short. Her voice lost its purr and annoyance. It was the voice of the girl who was being targeted by Assassins at age thirteen. “What?”

“Jason’s alive, Selina.” Bruce told her everything. Not just about the Arkham Knight and what Jason had told him in anger, but about The Joker hallucinations and what he had shown Bruce. Although he didn't talk about The Joker being a part of him, he did tell her what had happened to Jason and finding him on the side of the road. He’d been really trying with Selina when Jason was around and she saw the most of him. In turn, Jason saw her more like a mother than his own sometimes and Bruce knew that she would understand. “He’s a fully grown man now… But he’s still a kid. He’s scared and he’s angry at me.”

“No he’s not. Not completely,” Selina said. Bruce scoffed. “He _knows_ Bruce. He knows deep down that it’s not your fault because he got in your car.”

“He stole my car too.”

“Like you said, he’s scared. He’s a street kid and a lot of him still acts like a street kid. He thinks you’re going to abandon him, so he abandons you first.” It was a habit he knew well. Selina had done that a number of times to him over the years. Bruce wasn’t completely innocent of it either. “His actual parents tried selling him for drugs and Joker brainwashed him into believing the one person who actually cared about him didn’t want a bar of him. He tried killing you the other night… actually, are you sure it’s safe to be with him?”

Bruce lightly touched his neck where the finger marked bruises were still purple and blue. He opened his mouth to tell her it was fine when the door clicked. He immediately went for his utility belt, but he wasn’t wearing it, so he moved out of view of the entrance. The door opened halfway and Bruce could see the hand. Band-Aids and bandages were wrapped around scarred and nicotine-stained fingers. Bandages he had wrapped himself.

Bruce stepped out of his hiding spot and Jason jumped five feet into the air and back at the sight of him. “Fuck!” he shouted and Selina went tense in his ear.

“Bruce?”

“Sorry,” he said to both of them. He looked Jason up and down, quickly assessing his mused hair, dark bruised eyes, and fatigued stature. His bag was on his shoulder, his helmet under his arm and there was a brown paper bag in his hand. “It’s just Jason. He just walked in.” Jason frowned at the phone but Bruce pulled back and gestured for him to come inside.

He could almost hear Selina’s smile on the other end of the phone. “He knows, Bruce. Somewhere, he does. You just have to convince him.”

With Jason back inside, dumping his stuff on the end of the bed, Bruce felt a lot calmer. “And how do I do that?” he murmured. Jason gave him a sidelong glance, brow furrowed deeply.

“You be the one thing he never had and always needed. Not Batman, everyone’s saviour and not Bruce Wayne, philanthropist and opportunity maker. Be a father. Be there for him. Protect him, even if it’s from himself. You know. All the crap Alfred and Gordon tried with you but you were kind enough to throw in their faces.”

Bruce stared at Jason and his perplexed face. He turned his head away, only just enough that his smile wouldn’t be seen in the shadows. “Oh, because you were so much better.”

“Jim and Alfred tolerated me and only because of you. Otherwise it was _do this_ and _do that_ and _don’t steal_ and _Selina, get your life together._ Boring.”

“It wasn’t that much better for me, you know.” He caught Jason staring at him through the reflection of a horrible framed photograph of a Texan landscape. His face was suspicious, bordering on paranoid. “Thanks for the talk. I hope you’re not too mad at me.”

“Furious. But we can talk about that later. I swear, only you could fake your own death and end up with more responsibility than when you were alive. _And_ make me feel sympathetic.” Bruce didn’t reply but he felt himself smiling into the phone. “Goodnight, B. Give Jay my love.”

“Goodnight.” He hung up the phone and tucked it into his pocket, looking up at Jason with a soft smile.

“Who was that?” Jason asked, not even trying to be coy.

“Selina. She said hello.”

A blush crept up Jason’s cheeks and he became focused in on his helmet. Bruce had been quite sure Jason had, had a crush on her for some of his adolescence. He remembered a particularly funny morning when he had thought Jason was with Dick and the Titans, and Alfred was in England and Selina had been in the kitchen in nothing but a black slip with Bruce making breakfast. Jason had walked in and turned bright red before stammering something about school on a Saturday and running back up the stairs. “Oh… You told her.” It wasn’t a question. Just a statement of fact. “Who else knows?”

“Jim. Alfred. He probably told Lucius by now. I think Clark might work it out. Especially if Lois has anything to do with it.” Bruce leant his shoulder against the wall. “When you were younger, I used to get Selina’s advice on how to take care of you. Clark and Diana for Dick. Dick for Tim.”

“So you asked the criminal to raise the criminal and Uncle Clark and Aunt Diana how to raise saints?” Jason scoffed. His fingers were tight around the handles of his bag, as if he was going to leave again.

“I asked my girlfriend at the time for each of you… And Clark. And Dick.” Bruce looked heavenward. “But Dick insisted for Tim. I think he felt personally to blame for your death.”

Jason gritted his teeth. “I didn’t die.”

“But we thought you did.”

Jason’s brow furrowed. “He was off-world when I left.”

“You’re still his brother. He feels like he wasn’t there to protect you.”

“I left. I would have left if he’d been there too,” Jason bit out, scathingly.

“He would have followed you,” Bruce said. “Dick would have followed you to the ends of the universe.”

Jason flinched like that fact physically pained him. “I know that. I just wouldn’t have let him.”

Bruce didn’t want to say any more about it, but tucked aside Jason immediately jumping to Dick’s defence for later. He could see it was agitating him and he didn’t want to push. “Food?”

“I was hungry,” Jason said, eyes focused in on the bag. “I didn’t want to wake you. So I went and got food.”

“With your bag and helmet? You could have said you went out to buy a packet of cigarettes.” Bruce didn’t wait for a reply, crossing the room and pinching the brown bag from Jason. Jason just stood still, guilt at being caught out in his own lie dancing across his face. “I hope you brought some for me.”

Bruce went and sat at the tiny table and opened the bag. He waited for Jason to join him and after a minute, he did. “Yeah, I got you some,” he murmured and reached over and ripped open the rest of the brown paper, revealing southern fried chicken, yam chips, and deep-fried apple pie. The chicken was dry, the chips were soggy and the apple pie had a strange oily coating that left a bad taste in his mouth. But it was the best meal he’d eaten in a long while – not that he would tell Alfred – because of Jason.

The moment he saw him back in the room, the weight had lifted from his chest and he thought maybe it wasn’t the fact Batman was dead that made him feel freer, but Jason’s rebirth. He had to resist reaching out and touching him – laying a hand on his shoulder, squeezing his knee. He wanted to pull him into his arms like the day before, but he didn’t want to scare him off. Near the end of Bruce’s apple pie, Jason put his food down on the table. “Aren’t you gonna ask me where I’ve been?” Jason asked. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and fitted it behind his ear. “Or why I came back?”

Bruce put the pie down and clasped his hands together on the table. “I’m going to assume you ran. Not to Durango, because you wouldn’t want me to find you, but somewhere else you felt safe. But then you remembered, somewhere between here and there, whatever you realised that made you come help me with Scarecrow and stopped you from killing me.”

Jason’s leg shook with nerves. “I don’t know why I saved you. I don’t know why I came back. I hate you.” As he spoke, his bandaged fingers crunched around the packaging of his apple pie, breaking the pastry and sticky apple oozing from his fingers. “I _hate_ you, Bruce. I hate you so much and…” The more he spoke the more agitated his voice became. “I want to kill you. I’ve killed people, y’know. A lot of people. And I’m not going to stop. Not until every single one of them is finished.” The apple pie broke, a piece of it falling on the table and another onto his lap.

He had a distant look in his eyes, like he wasn’t completely there and Bruce’s heart broke at what he was saying. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known Jason wished to kill before. It was their biggest argument as Batman and Robin – Robin’s desire to kill wrongdoers, especially those who wronged children, and Batman’s insistence that they couldn’t. “Who have you killed, Jason?”

Jason’s fingers were filled with sticky apple, and even so, he lowered the cigarette into his mouth and struck another match. When the cigarette was lit he took in a deep, _deep_ breath and held it in his lungs. When he let it go, words started to spill out. “Thomas Blake, Mark Desmond, Rodney Clarke, James Lawson, Eric Brady…” He recited names and Bruce began to memorise each of them as Jason had. He hated it. Each and every name was a slash against his son’s name and the list grew on. Bruce didn’t believe much in religion but he had too many friends who told him about heaven and hell because they’d been there, and Diana was related to Hades.

When the names started changing into _the guy who robbed the old woman_ and _the man who jumped Deathstroke,_ Bruce’s throat closed up. Because there was a point where Jason stopped learning the names of people. At least before, Bruce could pretend to imagine that Jason hadn’t been taking his new role as Death’s Accomplice lightly. But soon names became villages, on the command of Deathstroke –Bruce wanted to go back to Gotham and break the hitman in two – and some just became _Joker’s henchman_ , _Two-Face’s henchman_.

It mapped the last five years for Bruce. The first few names were generic but then they became more Latin based. He’d moved through South America, and Africa before they became generic again. Bruce sat and listened to every single kill until Jason ran out of people. “That’s… That’s it, I think.” He seemed stunned. He lifted his head up, eyes locking onto Bruce’s across the table. The cigarette was finished, stubbed out on the motels table. He didn’t look away from Bruce, unashamed, but shaking. He couldn’t seem to stop shaking. “So do you still think I can be saved? Do you still think I’m your son?”

For a second Bruce forgot every single name. All he saw was hurt in Jason and a kid who ran away to see if his Bruce would look for him. “Always.” No matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if anyone has read the Genesis comics, I haven’t. I’ve seen some pages and have a general idea of what happened (thank Wikia!), but am not actually sure. All I know is that, unlike other universes where Jason literally comes back to life, Jason didn’t literally die. It was all faked. So he doesn’t have the Lazurus madness to blame for his murdering rampage but instead, the physical and psychological torture he had made him break. Not that he didn’t have killing tendencies before but, whatever… Anyway, for the purposes of my story, the only thing I’m changing is that Jason stole the tyres from the Batmobile and was in Bruce’s guardianship – not boarding school or juvie or whatever I read on wiki – from the age of eleven. He was seventeen when he was captured, over a year in Arkham and then three-four years-ish training/plotting. I just thought you should all know.


	5. Evasive Manoeuvre Eight-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I’m not American or Mexican. I’m not sure if you have to show your passport to leave and go to Mexico. I assume you do because 'Murica.  
> 2) I speak four languages fluently… Spanish is not one of them. My Spanish is limited to listening to my ex talk to his mother, my best friend talking to her father, and Lonely Planet Translation books that just have pick up lines in it… And Google translate… Which, I know is shit. But blame America for not being located north of Japan… or Greece… or Turkey… or any country that I can speak the language of.  
> Anyway, I tested it. If you throw what I've written into Google Translate, it should tell you what I want it to say.

In the car the next day, Jason said little and didn’t mention Durango again. In fact, he just seemed content leaning against the window, smoking and playing with the radio when a song he really hated came on. The further south they’d gone, the hotter the air got, and Jason took off his jacket and tugged off his long-sleeve, revealing a white t-shirt underneath.

Bruce almost crashed the car.

Jason’s forearms and bicep were scars. Not filled with scars, or heavily scarred, but the whole limbs had become an entire wound each. They weren’t fresh or filled with the older ones that he knew were from Willis and Catherine Todd. The injuries were older than The Siege but newer than the Todd’s. From his kidnapping.

Burns. Whips. Cuts. Injections. Stitches.

The ‘J’ on Jason’s face stood out even more harshly amongst the rest, but the ex-Robin didn’t look like he’d noticed Bruce’s sudden anger.

He wanted to ask about it. Get Jason to talk and find out what Joker said to make him hate him so much. But Bruce was worried he’d push Jason too far away, into an abyss.

The song on the radio changed and the song made Jason’s eyes flicker off the side of the road and towards the tuner instead. His brow furrowed at the song.

_He rocks in the treetops all day long. Hoppin’ and a-boppin’ and singing his song. All the little birdies on Jaybird Street. Love to hear the robin go tweet, tweet, tweet…_

Bruce was pulled back, probably into the same memory as Jason. Dick and Bruce were on the outs. It was his teenage rebellion years and as a vigilante, they weren’t exactly normal, ‘I’m going to stay out too late, do things I shouldn’t and sneak out’ rebellion things.

(Although, that’s exactly what they were, with Dick staying out so late he missed days of school to fight crime and doing things he shouldn’t. Things like stopping international drug rings with his equally as young friends and sneaking out to go “off-world to save my best friends, boyfriend’s planet! God, Bruce, why can’t you just get it?” He did get it. Too much. And he didn’t want Dick ending up like him.)

Bruce had grounded Dick but he’d invited Barbara over for a movie night to be defiant, only to find Jason in a foul mood. It had been the anniversary of his father’s death and unlike the anniversary of Dick’s parents or Bruce’s parents, it made Jason angry to remember him with sympathy. Even though, he always did.

It was for that reason that Bruce was watching them on the monitors, keeping an eye on Jason for the first anniversary he would be spending in Wayne Manor. But Jason had refused to tell Dick or Barbara what was wrong and so they took matters into their own hands.

“I know what will cheer you up, Boy Wonder,” Barbara had said, a smile spreading out over her face. They had been in the entertainment room that Dick had set up – a place Bruce rarely ventured into – and there was a collection of old records that Dick had scrounged up from all around the Manor that had once belonged to his parents. Barbara found what she was looking for and loaded up the record.

Dick’s face spread out into a grin the moment the first whistles of the song came on and it took Jason a moment to realise what the song was. As soon as he did, his face fell. “No.”

But Dick grabbed one of his hands and Barbara took the other as they started singing, off-key and loud and dancing in earnest, swinging each other and forcing Jason to spin around.

“ _All the little birdies on_ Jaybird _street!_ ” Dick had yanked Jason up and spun him around and instead of attacking him, Jason actually laughed. He looked annoyed at himself for doing it but Barbara pulled Jason out of Dick’s hold and took both his hands and made him dance with her.

“ _Love to hear the Robin go tweet, tweet, tweet! Rockin’ Robin–”_ Barbara sang and Dick laughed bursting out into tweets that made Jason laugh harder. He joined them in dancing, adding in cheesey moves once he was more comfortable and they kept dancing all night to _Elvis_ and _Little Richard_ and everything else they could find, until they finally collapsed

In the present, Jason leant forward and switched the radio channel. Bruce didn’t say a word at the way his fingers automatically sought out four cigarette burns on his bicep and squeezed. Bruce didn’t say anything, but he did move his hand behind Jason’s neck. Jason flinched but Bruce settled it on the back of his hair and squeezed lightly, the way he had done for each of his sons over the years when they began to feel distressed.

Jason’s grip on his burns loosened, just the slightest bit.

* * *

 

They crossed over into Mexico the next night and Bruce stopped in Nuevo Laredo to get some food. When they had, had to show their passports to border security Jason only showed the slightest bit of surprise when Bruce had a fake passport for him too. Bruce didn’t tell him he had them at the apartment in Metropolis and that he kept spares for all of them – Barbara and Alfred included – at every safe house. He’d never had the heart to get rid of Jason’s, and decided to instead to just never touch them.

They went into the main part of the border city and parked. “Leave your things in the car,” Bruce said as Jason tried to get out with his full gear slung over his shoulder.

A suspicious eyebrow shot up towards his hair line. “Why?”

Bruce walked around and unlocked the trunk of the car. “Because it’s heavy and unless you’re planning on leaving right now, then it’s just going to draw attention.”

Jason reluctantly agreed and dropped his things in the trunk, but did pull out a gun from his bag, sliding it into the back of his jeans and pulling his t-shirt down over it. “Why do you need that?” Bruce asked as he took his leather jacket and pulled that on too.

“I have friends everywhere.” Jason’s grin made him look wrong. Like The Joker. Bruce had to shake off the shiver that trembled down his spine.

Jason started to walk off as Bruce slammed the trunk shut and locked the car. They headed into the closest bar. It was loud, with Spanish RnB vibrating the walls. Purple and red lights flashed over the dance floor but didn’t quite reach the bar where Bruce and Jason found themselves. “ _Un chupito de tequila,_ ” Jason ordered. He glanced at Bruce and lifted two fingers. “ _Perdón. Dos_.”

“You speak Spanish?” Bruce asked when the bartender left to fetch them their drinks.

Jason looked away, evasively. “Enough to order alcohol.” He knocked back the shot when it was put in front of him and pushed his hair back and his hair stuck up in the air. “You hungry?” he asked. He was already lighting a cigarette, the smoking laws somewhat lax in the club.

Bruce took the menu and handed it over to Jason. “Be careful what you order. Dick and his friends got food poisoning last time they were here.”

“Here, as in this bar or just a general, ‘Mexico’ here?”

“Nuevo Laredo, here. I collected them. Dick, Roy, and Wally. We got a new jet after that.” Bruce smiled just the slightest bit when Jason squashed up his face in disgust. He was still glancing through the menu when something or _someone_ caught his eye on the dance floor. He put down the menu, slowly.

“You know what? I saw a 7/11 and coffee shop down the street. Potato chips and coffee and a lack of food poisoning sound good right now.” Jason shook his cigarette packet. “Plus, I’m running low.” Bruce agreed and Jason took his untouched tequila and knocked that back too. Bruce left money on the counter.

Outside it was so much quieter that Bruce’s ears felt numb. He had never really been the bar type, even when he was Jason’s age. Of course, he’d shown up at events, but it was always for show. To maintain the idea that he was a billionaire playboy.

_Well that turned out to be a waste of time._

As they entered the corner store, Jason pulled his hood over his head and Bruce copied the motion, eyeing the camera behind the counter. Bruce gave Jason a sidelong look and the night shift guy put his magazine down cautiously as they split up to cover more ground. Jason picked out a packet of chips and Bruce did too, not paying attention to what he picked up and instead, eyeing the outside. Bruce did too, though he wasn’t sure what or _who_ Jason was watching.

When they’d both collected what they wanted, Jason dumped what he wanted on the counter. Cigarettes, chips, lollies, a drink and an energy bar. He then turned and smirked at Bruce, patiently waiting for him to pay.

He put his own things on the counter and pulled out his wallet. The clerk had just finished bagging their things when the subtle click of a gun being taken off safety, sounded behind his ear. “ _Usted tiene algunas grandes cahunas para venir aquí, Jota de Picas._ ” Two other men laughed like school boys egging on their friends. Bruce’s eyes flickered to the closest drink fridge. In the reflection he could see three men – _boys_ , actually, wearing bandanas around their faces and holding guns up at Jason’s head, speaking in Spanish. The one in charge was flanked by the other two, and had a bald head with a silver earring in his right ear. “ _Manos en las cabezas._ ”

“Friends of yours?” Bruce asked through the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not sure. I’ve met a lot of people,” Jason said, locking his fingers behind his head. Bruce looked up at the cashier and he also had his hands up. Bruce sighed and copied Jason’s movements.

“ _Tarántula te está buscando,_ ” the leader said. All three of them had a tattoo on their necks. A spider that looked as if it was raised off their skin and would crawl over them at any moment.

“Non-comprende, amigos,” Jason replied with an obnoxious and camp version of the American accent. “Me and my partner here are just on a little rom-com vacay.” He smiled and when he smiled, it was a drawl. A cruel impression of a smile that belonged on someone else’s face. Even when he used to make jokes as Robin, his smile had never been that spite filled. It made Bruce’s stomach turn.

The gun pressed against the back of Jason’s head and he flinched, just the slightest bit at the cold metal barrel on his flesh.

“Do you remember evasive manoeuvre eighty-three?” Bruce asked, bringing his mind back to the present.

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “I remember everything,” he growled.

Bruce could see one of the guys pull out zip ties through the reflection and moved. With the gun in such close proximity, it was just managing to twist around faster than the enemy’s reflexes and the waver of his body was a clear indication he had been drinking. Bruce moved and grabbed the leaders arm, slamming his elbow into the crook and sending his hand with the gun upwards. The man loosened his grip and Bruce took hold of the weapon and removed the ammo in one motion.

At the same time, Jason jumped up onto the counter, kicking all the candy and gum at the remaining two. They flinched and deflected the flying sugary treats and Jason jumped off the counter and landed on the other side of Bruce and the Leader. He winded the first guy with a quick jab to the neck and wrapped his arm around the second one’s neck to choke him out.

The man Bruce disarmed chose the next second to bring his knee up to Bruce’s gut. It had been a long time since Bruce had received a sharp knee to the stomach sans armour, but there was no real strength behind it, and Bruce recovered quickly. Jason was still trying to get his guy to go unconscious but he was fighting and squirming about in Jason’s arms like a worm. “Swap!” Bruce shouted.

Jason gritted his teeth, snarling as though he didn’t agree. But Bruce brought himself up to full height and slammed his foot into the leader’s chest, sending him flying towards Jason. With no other option, Jason threw his thug straight at Bruce and the man flew by his friend in the crossover.

Bruce held out his arm and slammed it into Jason’s choke victim and Jason grabbed a can of dog food from the shelves and slammed it against the leader’s head. They both fell like a bag of bricks and the one Jason winded turned on his heel and ran. Jason moved to go after him, but Bruce held him back by his arm. “No. We need to go.”

The colour red rose into Jason’s cheeks, his rage bubbling like a shook can of soda. “He’s going to go back to Tarantula to tell–”

“They’ll tell her when they wake up anyway. Let’s go.” Bruce didn’t let go of his arm, and grabbed the bags from the counter. He pushed Jason ahead and they left the 7/11 and the worker, calling the police. Outside, Jason twisted his head around, looking for the young thug again, but Bruce grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him to his side.

Jason spun fast and shoved Bruce in the chest. “Don’t touch me!”

Bruce faced him. They were stood either side of the sidewalk, glaring at each other with equally stubborn expressions. They didn’t have time for this and Bruce was growing annoyed. “You have two options right now. Get in the car willingly or have me knock you out and shove you in.”

“I’d like you see you try, old man,” he sneered.

“We don’t have time for this,” Bruce huffed. His exhaustion was slowly creeping up on him. “I already brought down an army this week, Jason. You think I can’t take you down? Again?”

The anger died, confusion splattering over his face, and it worried Bruce. What confused him? What was going through his head? But they weren’t the most important things at that point. When Jason didn’t object anymore, Bruce turned and jogged to the car, Jason keeping up just behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only edited this once. Give me a heads up if there was anything terrible, or if you speak Spanish and want to correct mine, you can do that too.


	6. Remember

Bruce’s eyes were aching and red. He wanted to sleep. If he had rested properly in the motel, he probably could have done another forty-eight sleepless hours but he hadn’t and driving through the night was becoming harder. Sugar and caffeine were the only things fuelling him.

Maybe it was watching Jason turn himself into the smallest version of himself on the seat beside him that was pushing him. Jason looked more like a kid than he had the right to with a three-day gruff on his cheeks – Bruce tried not to think about the fact it used to take Jason a week to get stubble or how excited he had been when Bruce taught him how to shave.

He wasn’t asleep. Just staring out the window with the same white-faced expression that he’d had when Bruce mentioned The Siege.

It had been two hours since they’d left Nuevo Laredo. They hadn’t played any music and Bruce had picked at his snacks, but other than the engine and ruffle of plastic, there had been no noise. Jason hadn’t even lit up a cigarette, choosing instead to stare out at the road in quiet shock. It took a second for Bruce to even remember how to use his voice when he finally decided to break the silence. “Why do the call you The Jack of Spades?” Bruce asked.

After a long pause, Jason took in a deep breath, licking his lips. “The J on my face. Looks like a playing card. I tend to kill people. Bury them. Jack of Spades. S’posed to be funny.”

“My sides are splitting,” Bruce said, earning an eye roll from Jason. It shook him a little out of his mood. “What does she want from you?”

“What makes you think it’s a woman?”

Bruce looked heavenward for strength, for the briefest of seconds. “Tarantula, a.k.a. Catalina Flores. Used to live in Blüdhaven. Is wanted by BPD for the attempted murder of Roland Desmond, also known as the second Blockbuster… She’s your brother’s ex-girlfriend.”

Jason scoffed. “Of course she is. Well that explained how she knew my name when we met. Does Dickiebird have photos of me strung up around his apartment or something?”

“Next to his bed, actually.” Jason hadn’t been expecting such a serious reply and went quiet again. “What does she want with you?”

He worked his jaw slowly and then forced a smile on his face. It was sarcastic, which wasn’t unusual for Jason. But there was a tinge of The Joker cruel humour in it. A reminder that he was brainwashed. “We had a disagreement over _methods_. She has a hard-on for stopping police corruption. I preferred to exploit and encourage it. The dirtier it got in the police department, the easier it was to find the real criminals. It was all going so well, until Catalina decided to put a bounty on my head. Hard to exploit the system when the system is trying to kill you for money. So I left. Set up shop in Venezuela instead. End of story.” Jason rubbed his side, trying to ease the pain.

Bruce’s steering wheel leather was going to have it in a hole in it soon. He remembered throwing the punch to wind Jason. The way he held himself, they were at least cracked. “How are your ribs?”

“Fine.” He pushed himself up so he wasn’t leaning against the window anymore. He held himself up, back straight and let go of his chest. Bruce noticed his breathing wasn’t as even as it had been when he was leaning against the door.

Bruce sighed. He glanced at him again and knew there was no more putting it off. He must have jolted the ribs in the fight and made them worse. He turned the car, pulling up to the side of the road.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked.

Bruce ignored him and pulled up the handbrake. “There’s a first aid kit in the car. We need to brace your ribs.”

“I don’t need shit,” Jason snapped.

For the second time, Bruce ignored him. He got out of the car and went to the trunk. He pulled out the kit, diligently packed by Alfred. It wasn’t the typical first aid kid. It was made especially for Bruce. For Batman. Alfred knew that no matter how much Bruce threw around the word _retire_ what he meant was _take a break to figure out how I can come back_. He pulled out some ibuprofen and instant ice packs and a rib brace and went to the passenger’s side. Jason had his arms crossed over his chest, glaring out the front window. He opened the door and knelt beside him. “Let me see.”

“It’s _fine_.”

“Jason.” Bruce touched his knee but Jason yanked back roughly. He cried out and grabbed his side, a sharp breath coming through his nostrils. “Son.” Bruce reached out and braced him as Jason slammed his fist into his own knee.

“ _Don’t_ call me that!” he shouted, but cried out in pain after, when his words jarred his bones.

“Let me look at your ribs,” Bruce said, gentler but with more authority. “You’re in a lot of pain. You need to get them treated, or they’ll get worse and then we’ll be in hospital.”

Jason growled in frustration and hit his already bruised knuckles against the dashboard before relenting. He moved and Bruce got up and stepped away as Jason got out. He was moving gingerly now. Earlier, he must have had adrenaline pumping through him after the jolt of jumping off the counter jarred him. He took off his jacket, hissing at the pain and went to take off his t-shirt when lifting his arms became a problem.

“Calm down.” Bruce moved closer to him and held his arms down. With a frown, Jason let Bruce touch him. “Which side hurts more?” he asked.

Jason flinched and glared at him. “Right.”

Slowly, Bruce lifted Jason’s left arm and pulled at Jason’s t-shirt, stretching it and misshaping it until it was off the one arm. Pulling the rest over his head and pulling it down his right arm was easy after that. Jason winced as a cold breeze hit him in his dark purple and blue chest.

Bruce tried not to show it on his face, but he was concerned. Not just at the bruised flowers across his chest, but at the scars. The marks where electrical burns had fizzled his flesh. The scars where knives had been dragged through to the muscle and twisted skin where cigarettes turned him into an ashtray, worse than the way Willis had. Just the fact Jason had been able to hide the pain from his ribs proved that he had been through worse and his torso and arms mapped out that pain in a dark, twisted tale.

He quietly took a bottle of water out of his backseat and gave him the ibuprofen. Jason popped out four into his hand and Bruce went to snatch two away. Jason yanked his hand back and swallowed them down dry. Bruce opened his mouth to snap at him for being so stupid but Jason stopped him. “I’ve grown a tolerance to painkillers. You might as well give me TicTacs, unless it’s straight up morphine. I took six in one go once and all it did was give me a stomach ulcer.”

Bruce grunted in disapproval and handed him the bottle of water. Jason drank half of it at once. Meanwhile, Bruce took out a long girdle bandage from its packaging and wrapped it around Jason’s ribs. He had to get in close to Jason to do so and Jason held his breath as Bruce approached. He made a small complaint about Bruce’s lack of Alfred-level skill in patching things up, but other than that, remained quiet. “I wasn’t pulling my punches,” Bruce said, recognising the shape of the gauntlet in Jason’s torso. Though he might have been apologising from the coarseness of his chest, mottled with injury.

Jason opened his mouth and shut it again. He glared at something over Bruce’s shoulder. Finally, he remarked, “Some guy – not one of mine, a Penguin thug, I think – ran into me that night. Said he’d just seen Batman and that he was out for blood. He said you looked like you were gonna kill the Penguin and you would have too, if Nightwing hadn’t been there to stop you.”

Bruce wasn’t sure what to say. He knew why he was more volatile that night. Knew that The Joker had been egging him on, and his subconscious had allowed it. There was a part of Bruce that always knew he was capable of killing, but he never allowed it for a reason. It hadn’t been the only time he’d seen The Joker in his own eyes. The Joker was very much like Bruce in the way he planned and meticulously thought things through. _Plans within plans;_ Diana had once berated him over his tactics, and The Joker was exactly the same.

Jason was Joker’s plan too and he knew that because of the scar on his face. The _J_ wasn’t just meant as an insult to Bruce. It was to show he owned Jason and that he was just a cog in his machinery. But Bruce wasn’t going to let him win. “I wasn’t myself that night,” Bruce admitted.

“They say you haven’t been yourself since The Joker died.” Jason was dancing around a dangerous topic for them both. He didn’t want to know what Jason would do if he ever found out The Joker was buried somewhere deep within Bruce’s subconscious. That if he meditated deep enough and slid through enough layers, he could find him. Talk to him. He was still trying to find a way to expel him completely so that there was no chance of him remerging. He never wanted to risk that.

“Things happened in Arkham City. Things that were unexpected.” Bruce started breaking the ice packs to activate the cold and gave them to Jason. “I didn’t come out of there the same man. But I’m okay now. The other night, things were put into perspective.”

Jason held the icepacks to his side and hissed at the sting of cold. “Like me?” His voice was gruff, but small. He couldn’t look at Bruce, choosing instead to stare at the ground.

He looked so much like the kid who was afraid Bruce would throw him out for spilling milk on the carpet on his first night in the mansion. Carefully, as not to scare him, Bruce moved closer. Jason barely looked up, choosing instead to move his ice pack from one side to the other. Bruce slid his hand up Jason’s arm, resting it on his shoulder. He still didn’t look at him so Bruce pulled his face up and made him, spreading his hand out over his neck and using his thumb under his jaw to direct his head. “After all the darkness The Siege brought, you gave me clarity. If you hadn’t shown up, I would have died that night. I was planning to die that night. Because I saw no other way to win.”

Jason frowned, his voice small and childlike. “Against Scarecrow?”

 _Against Joker,_ his thoughts said. But he still couldn’t tell that to Jason. So he nodded and reached around Jason to grab his own hooded jacket. He pulled it up and brought it over Jason’s shoulders, helping him into it. When he had his arms through, Jason grabbed Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce stopped. It was the first-time Jason had willingly touched him, apart from throwing punches, and Jason looked just as surprised as Bruce felt. His fingers were cold from the ice pack but he squeezed Bruce, digging into the flesh. “I’m…” Jason stopped himself. His frown deepened and the fingers on Bruce’s shoulder turned to sharp nails digging into skin.

He was struggling. To find words. To figure out how he felt. Bruce could see the war within Jason’s eyes as fear, rage, and more confusion danced in the blue. It was the same confusion that had burnt in his eyes earlier that evening and Bruce just wanted to put him out of his misery. “It’s okay, Jason. You don’t have to say anything. Not if you’re not ready.”

Jason slammed his jaw shut so tight, Bruce heard his teeth snapping together. His arm dropped from Bruce’s shoulder and got back into the car, slamming the door. He lit up a cigarette then let it hang from his lips, furiously digging his fingers into scars on his arm.

* * *

As the sun rose behind them, somewhere near Torreón, the car began to run out of fuel. Bruce was surviving mostly on sugary energy drinks that he normally despised, but it wasn’t the first time. Jason, on the other hand, was sleeping the sleep of the dead. In fact, Bruce had put his hand over his mouth a few times to check he was breathing nervously when he thought of how many pills he’d had, despite his assurance that it was fine.

He drove into Torreón and pulled up at a service station. “Jason.” Bruce squeezed his knee and Jason’s eyes flung open, his hand landing on Bruce’s wrist. “I’m filling up the car. Do you want a coffee?”

Jason squeezed his wrist just the slightest bit before he let go. He shook his head and undid his belt buckle. “Got to piss though.”

As he got out of the car Bruce sighed. “Charming.” He got out too and watched Jason walk quite quickly to the service station. He went around and filled up the car before pulling out his burner phone. He’d had it on silent and paused when he saw a missed call. He put it up to his ear to check the messages and heard Selina’s soft voice.

“Hey. You might have ditched this number already but, in case you haven’t, I thought I’d try. I saw Dick last night. He’s broken. Fighting harder and dirtier than I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe you haven’t told him. I know you’re looking after Jason and probably have some sort of grand plan I can’t see, but he thinks you’re dead. He’s dodging press in the day and fighting a brutal battle for power in Blüdhaven now that Penguin’s been kicked out, all by himself. I mean Boy Archer and Little Speed McQueen are helping him, but… He needs you, Bruce… At least, if you don’t come back, get one of your weird friends to check up on him. You know? Tall, alien and handsome or the woman into gold bondage? Anyway. I hope you’re okay. Kiss baby bird for me.”

Her message ended with a click and Bruce pocketed the phone again before going in to pay. He got another energy drink. There were only five hours left to the ride and then he could sleep properly. But first, he had to make sure Jason wasn’t going to leave him in Durango.

Jason came back, holding a newspaper in hands and a lit cigarette in his mouth. He read the front cover, in Spanish and saw his own face plastered on it and Dick and Tim’s beneath. Apart from the headline about investigations, Bruce got nothing else from the paper from a distant glance. Judging by the way Jason was reading, something had gone wrong though, because his glower had pinched his entire face. “Barbara is _marrying_ Replacement?” Jason said as he got into the car. “What the hell did Dick do? You’d think a guy who chooses to go by the name Dick would have some balls!” Jason glared at Bruce accusingly. “Why didn’t you fix this?”

It took a few seconds for the sleep deprived Bruce to even figure what Jason was talking about. _Tim must have asked Barbara to marry him after everything._ He thought about Selina’s message and Tim getting engaged to Barbara, of all people. With the high intensity week they’d had it was more than enough reason for Dick to feel the need to let loose a little. Even though he had told Dick a couple of dozens of times to tell Tim about his previous relationship with Barbara, he had always lied and insisted he was fine with everything. Barbara was no better. They both lied to Tim and every passing day, all three of their relationships got messier and messier. “I don’t meddle in your love lives,” he said resolutely, turning on the car.

“Sure you don’t. You just meddle in everything else.” Jason flicked through the rest of the paper then took a long drag.

“Why are you smoking that?” Bruce asked, finally sick of pretending like he didn’t care. “You know it’s only gonna kill you.”

“They’re also the closest thing to calm I get some days,” Jason explained quickly, and that shut Bruce up. “But back to more pressing matters, Replacement is twenty. _Twenty_ , B. If I knew Barbie liked kids, I would have hit her up a couple dozen times.”

Bruce wasn’t sure what brought about this sudden change in Jason’s attitude. He seemed… Okay. “Yes. And she would have been butter in your hands,” Bruce said dryly, careful not to break the mood.

Jason laughed. An honest to God laugh, tilting his head back and barking up at the sky. His blue eyes sparkled with some of their old joy and it gave Bruce a strange feeling in his chest. Joy mixed with an aching loss that he hadn’t tried harder to find his son. He looked back at the newspaper and flicked through. “You should call Barbie and tell her off… Ain’t there a Wayne Tech Factory somewhere here in Torreón? You can pull down her servers from there, can’t you?”

“Yes, I could. But Barbara would burn me alive. And I brought you to the Factory here once. A detour on our way to Corto Maltese.”

Jason’s fingers gripped around the edges of the newspaper tightened. “No, you didn’t.”

The mood in the car immediately changed. Bruce frowned and glanced at Jason. His body was rigid, eyes made of steel. “Yes, I did. You were fourteen and got hungry and I had to get into the Wayne Tech systems because we’d fried the computers of the plane in a fight we accidentally tumbled into with Black Adam and Captain Marvel.”

Jason’s eyes shut again and he looked like he was riding a painful high. He’d taken the cigarette out of his mouth, wrist hanging out of the window. Bruce paused to check on him but as his hand hovered over his leg, Jason snapped, “Keep going.”

Bruce considered stopping and asking Jason what he remembered but thought better of it. “We landed nearby and changed at the safe house. We went into the Factory and got the grand tour when I told them I was showing you around because you wanted to head up the company in South America one day. I asked you to distract the workers while I used the Wayne Enterprise system to hack back into the Batcomputer.”

“They wouldn’t leave you alone,” Jason murmured softly. “So I called Barbara and we swapped. She taught me how to get into the Batcomputer from any Wayne Enterprise computer. That’s how I knew how to hack your money when I got out of Arkham.”

“You hacked my accounts,” Bruce said, not really asking him but realising it made more sense than Scarecrow going after Bruce Wayne alone. Bruce thought of all the money that had been going missing from the accounts. Lucius had been saying for a while that things weren’t adding up but it had been the last thing Bruce had needed to deal with. It made sense that it was Jason.

“That’s how I paid for the army… For Slade… For…” He opened his eyes and stared at the dashboard. “How did I forgot all of that?”

Bruce wasn’t sure. He wanted to talk about it some more but at the same time, he could see Jason going into some sort of state of shock. “Well if you forgot about all of that, then maybe this place might seem a bit more exciting at least.”

Jason tore his eyes away from the staring competition with the dash and looked at where Bruce was pulling up the car. It was the restaurant Bruce had taken him to after Jason successfully got access to the Batcomputer. He got the same scowl as before as Jason remembered more. “The place with the good breakfast burritos.” Jason stared out the window and kept frowning. “I loved this place. Bragged about it to all my friends. I forgot about that too.”

 _I remember everything._ Jason’s growled out reply had struck a nerve the previous night, but now it made less sense. He remembered the training but not the good things. At least, not when Bruce was involved.

Bruce reached out and squeezed the back of Jason’s neck the way he had the other night. “It’s okay. You’ve gone through a lot.”

Jason was too surprised to react badly or react at all to Bruce’s touch. They got out of the car and went into the diner. “Selina called,” Bruce said as he opened the door for Jason. He stepped inside as Bruce went on to say, “She told me to kiss you.”

Jason’s lost the look of blank absence as he made a face. “Don’t do that.”

Bruce chuckled and reached out, rubbing Jason’s hair. He made the same flinch he did when he was fifteen. The one that said he was far too old for that sort of treatment. They sat down in a booth with worn red leather seats. Bruce ordered food and coffee for them. Jason grabbed the menu after the waitress left and let his eyes glance over it. “Corto Maltese… Isn’t that where we went with Ollie, Dinah, and Mia that one time?” Jason had a frown on his face, as he recalled the memory. “We were looking at a weapons bust… Something to do with Solomon Grundy working for Merlyn.”

“He was the muscles behind Merlyn’s attack, yes.”

Jason put the menu down and wrapped his arm over the back of his chair. “That weekend, I tried very hard to get a date with Speedy. And _you_ kept getting in the way of that. So much for not meddling in love lives.”

Bruce smirked. “That was different. It was a favour to Oliver. Mia had been through some things. He was trying to keep her away from boys.”

“Meddling,” Jason smirked right back, his hair flopping over his face boyishly. “Barbara should marry Dick.”

“Not my call. They’re all consenting adults and Dick knows how to talk. Better than I do.” Bruce was about to drop the conversation when he remembered something else. “Alfred tried. Told Tim dating Barbara was inadvisable. But I think now he just wants all of us to get married and settle down and is at the point where he doesn’t care who or how.”

Jason’s face softened. “Alfie… I miss him.” A gentle smile spread out across his face and the early morning light hit his face through the window in light beams. He needed a shower. To wash his hair properly. The ‘J’ stood out on his face, a stark contrast to the impish expression he had. “I miss his cooking, and the way he’d do my tie for school.” He touched his neck absently.

Bruce tried not to let his concern show on his face. It was strange. How Jason could recall memories of Mia and Alfred, could say, ‘Uncle Clark’ and ‘Aunt Diana’ without flinching, but memories of Bruce left him agitated and confused. It was leaving the impression on Bruce that whatever happened to Jason at Arkham was more than just beatings and bouts of torture.

The burritos came and Jason picked his up, inspecting it. Bruce watched him as he stared down the food with heavy scrutiny. He bit into, chewing around the tomato, chorizo, egg, potato, jalapeno concoction and stared at it thoughtfully. He groaned in the back of his throat and grinned. “I forgot it tasted so good,” he said, still chewing.

 _You’ve forgotten a lot,_ Bruce wanted to say.

But he didn’t. He just bit into his own burrito and watched Jason fondly as he launched into a conversation about the _rice-to-meat_ ratio in a perfect burrito. Bruce laid back heavily on his chair and just watched and listened, a smile on his face the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't update yesterday - had to go to university after work to do some stuff.
> 
> Forgive me?


	7. Then and Now

The car windows were rolled down and Jason had turned the radio up again. Between the night before and Torreón, something had changed in him. Bruce wasn’t sure as to what though. All he knew was that, despite a little confusion earlier about Torreón, Jason was acting almost like his old self. He was singing along to some Mexican pop hit, reciting the words in perfect Spanish and let his hand windsurf out the window. He hadn’t even grabbed a cigarette since the morning.

He half expected him to look at Bruce, half a smile on his face and say, “Why are you staring, old man?” But he let the air fly through his hair and stared out the window instead. Bruce wanted to tell him to put his seatbelt on and to take his leg off the dashboard, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Jason had always been touchy about being parented and he didn’t want to push him away.

It left Bruce unsure as to whether he should break the peace with his offer of living with him in Mazatlán or just keep driving and see if he noticed they went around Durango. He was trying to figure out how to broach the topic when Jason glanced at him. “Should you technically be driving? You haven’t slept since Texas.”

Bruce refocused on the road. His head was hurting the slightest bit, but he hadn’t fallen asleep at the wheel yet. They were only an hour out from Durango and that was three hours away from Mazatlán. But, he realised he couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste. Not when Jason had given him the perfect segue. “I was going to ask you to drive, but you’re getting off at Durango anyway. I can last another hour.”

Jason’s mood shifted again, his face falling. It was worrisome how fast that could happen, like flipping a light switch. He looked up at the road signs as it dawned on him for the first time what was happening. Or maybe what had happened. A hundred things were flickering across his face and Bruce quickly said, “Unless, you want to come with me…”

“No,” Jason snapped quickly. “I… I don’t…” He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. A hard steeled resolve flashed in them and he pulled his hand in from the window and on his lap. “Just drop me off in Durango.” He rolled up his window and leant against it, pulling his legs down and curling up in himself again.

But Bruce wasn’t going to let him go that easily. Not when he seemed to getting through it him. “Why did you help me?”

Jason grabbed his head, shutting his eyes as the confusion settled in on his features again. “What?”

“In Gotham. Why did you track me in the van Scarecrow put me in? Why not just leave me if you wanted me dead?” Bruce glanced at Jason from the corner of his eye but settled his gaze back on the road. Jason was going through something, looking through his mind for thoughts.

“I don’t…” he crushed his fingers around his hair and pulled. Bruce reached his hand out and went to pull Jason’s hand away but Jason shouted and shoved him. The car swerved from one lane over the second and onto the grass that divided the two opposing roads. They skidded, almost spilling into the oncoming lane, but Bruce straightened out and slammed his foot on the brakes.

They both lurched forward, Bruce catching in his seatbelt. Without his, Jason started to fly and pulled his arms over his face to stop the glass from hitting him. Time slowed for Bruce and he knew that Jason was heading for the window. It was instinct and instinct alone that made him reach his arm out and pin it across Jason’s chest, holding him tight in his seat.

Time flew back into motion, but they were standing still. Both Jason and Bruce were breathing quickly, adrenaline pumping through their bloodstreams to make their hearts hammer. “Da–” Jason started to say and Bruce’s face snapped to look at him. He was in his seat, safe. He was safe and he was about to call him Dad.

Even before, ‘Dad’ was something rare. Bruce could count the number of times his children had said it seriously to him on his hands. But unlike Tim and Dick, who mostly mocked him with it, Jason only called him ‘Dad’ when he was being his most serious. “I’m sorry,” Jason said, hands shaking. “I’m sorry, I’m… _fuck_.” His hands scrambled for the car door and he got it open, tumbling out onto the road. Bruce got out too, running around to help pull Jason up.

Instead, he got a fist to the jaw. Bruce staggered back as Jason stood up. “Leave. Me. Alone!” Each word was punctuated by a swing of Jason’s fist and Bruce couldn’t believe how quickly his mood had shifted. He swung under the first punch and around the second but the third landed in his gut.

Bruce coughed and Jason pulled back grabbing his head and groaning. “No, no, _no!_ ” He spun around and went back to the car, letting the door swing open. Winded, Bruce could only watch as Jason grabbed his helmet and bag from the backseat. He slammed the door shut again, clearly satisfied with the _thunk_ and stormed off.

“Jason!” Bruce straightened up and ran after him. He grabbed one of his shoulders and swung around until he was in front of him, holding both tightly. “Listen to me, Jay. Please, listen to me.” Jason struggled to keep moving, so Bruce held him straight. “You can’t walk to Durango from here. It’s too hot. It’s too dangerous. I won’t ask any more questions. I’ll just drive you. Just don’t leave. Not now. Give me one more hour. _One_ more.”

“What do you want from me?” Jason shouted, roughly pushing Bruce back.

Bruce stepped right back in front of him and got hold of him again. He couldn’t let go. He wouldn’t let _him_ go. “What do _you_ want from _me_? Why did you come back, Jason? Why haven’t you killed me if you hate me that–”

“I don’t know!” Jason’s scream ripped through his throat and he pushed Bruce, but fell off balance and ended up falling back into the grass himself. He threw his bag and helmet aside and buried his face in his hands. “I… I just don’t know,” he said, softer.

Bruce knelt, taking Jason’s knee and when he didn’t flinch away or try to attack him, he crept closer. “What’s going on in your head?” Bruce asked.

Jason shook his head, still not looking up. “I’m staying in Durango. I won’t bother you again. Just leave me alone.”

“I don’t care if you bother me. I have never cared if you bothered me.” Bruce slid even closer and wrapped an arm around Jason’s back. “I want to help you.”

“I don’t need help. I just want to go. I want to be by myself.” Jason pushed Bruce off his shoulders, pulling away until they weren’t touching again. “I’m not here for a family reunion. I just needed a ride.”

Bruce nodded mutely. Jason was still tense, still pulling away. “I’ll take you to Durango. I won’t ask any more questions. Get back in the car and I’ll drop you off and won’t bother you again. Just give me one more hour.”

“What's an hour gonna do?” Jason whispered.

Bruce didn’t know. He just wanted more time. A naïve part of him believed that if he had the rest of the hour he could fix him. “I won’t abandon you. Not even when you leave. But I won’t let you go until the last possible second.” Despite Jason constantly pushing him away, he had to try again. He reached his hand out and squeezed the back of Jason’s neck. “Come back to the car, son.”

Jason touched his forehead to his knees and started whispering something beneath his breath before he began to nod. “Let’s just go,” he said hoarsely, finally loud enough for Bruce to hear. He pushed himself up to his feet before Bruce could respond “Now.”

He picked up his bag and stalked back to the car and Bruce sighed, watching him go. His shoulders were held taut and his back, hardened. There was no way to stop him. Not when he was like that. It was the same last image he had of him, five years previous.

“We should kill him!” Jason had shouted at him, his voice echoing through the Batcave.

Bruce slammed his fist into the desk. “For the last time, Jason. We _don’t_ kill.”

“Why not?” Jason roared. “ _He_ does! _Kids_ , Bruce. _Orphans!_ They thought they were going to the amusement park _and they got blown up!_ ” Every word had a punch. A bloody scream torn from his throat. Jason was so angry that he was in pain.

“Because we’re not executioners!” Bruce shouted back, just as loud, just as pained. Guilt manifested between them and it only made them both more brutal. What was it his mother had always said?

“It’s easier to be angry with those you love, because you know they’ll never cast you aside,” Martha Wayne explained when Bruce had lost his temper as a child.

He stalked towards Jason. “That’s one thing you have never understood. We’re here to put away the ones that are too much to handle for the GCPD. But we have a code. We do not cross that line.”

Jason laughed without humour. “Yeah. We round the bad guys up and put them in jail, only for them to pay off the guards and break out. How many times have you put The Joker away, Bruce? How many times has the Commish had to call us to tell us Joker got out again? It’s a never-ending cycle! How many people must die before you realise, all you’ve ever done is help The Joker put on a show? You might as well have killed those kids yourself! You’re just as much a murderer as he is!”

Bruce became still. Calm. He moved his features into the one he had perfected as Batman. The hardened one that made criminals turn away. He used it on his own son. “Leave. Now. You’re grounded. I want your cape and mask and you’ll only get them back when you’ve apologised.”

“Go to hell, Bruce,” Jason snapped. He turned on his heel and stalked away from him. “You’re not my father and I’m so happy about that, cause I didn’t need another coward, that’s willing to let kids die, try to parent me.”

Bruce closed his eyes but tried not to reply. He hadn’t wanted to argue further with him. But he’d opened his eyes just before he got to the stairs and watched him leave, back stiff and filled with anger.

Bruce wanted to grab him and pull him back. Hold him and never let him go. Or go back in time and look for him instead of deciding to give him a few days off to vent.

He got up off the dirt and went back to the driver’s seat. Jason stared dead ahead, bag and helmet back on his lap like a security blanket. Bruce lifted his hand towards Jason and his head snapped towards it, glaring at it like a vicious animal. Carefully, Bruce reached his hand up and touched it on his shoulder, trying to offer him his support.

Jason shrugged him off and leant back in his chair. “Just drive.”

* * *

 

After they reached the outer city limits of Durango, Jason instructed him on how to get to the Cathedral. Other than the instructions, they didn’t speak.

Bruce had never been to Durango before, but it was beautiful. It was like something out of Madrid or Florence, with its cathedrals and mix of pavement and cement. People were out on the streets, having lunch and enjoying themselves. They all looked too happy and peaceful to have a booming underground mercenary trade.

When they reached the Cathedral – known to locals as ‘Catedral Basílica de Durango’ – Bruce found a parking spot and killed the engine. Both Jason and Bruce sat silently, both of them waiting for the other to speak or move but both too emotionally drained to do either.

“Son,” Bruce started but Jason grabbed the door handle and opened it. He got out and Bruce cursed under his breath and followed. “Jason, wait!” Bruce jogged after him and grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

“I don’t want to do this with you,” Jason growled.

“Do what?” Bruce asked. “Say goodbye?”

“You’re gonna ask me to stay, and I’m gonna say no.”

“I’m not asking you to stay, Jason,” Bruce said and Jason glared back at him, eyes crinkling in the corners. “I’m not telling you to go either but… If you do, I want you to be safe.” Bruce dug his hand into his pocket and from it pulled out his wallet and a pen. He pulled out all the cash he had in it and held it out to him. Jason reluctantly took it. “I want you to be smart and not take any merc job. Don’t take one that will lead you back to Slade, or anyone who can hurt you.” With the pen, he scribbled down the number of what should have been his burner phone (but was turning into a more permanent form of communication) on the back of an old receipt and gave that to him too. “And if you need me, call me. No matter what time it is, no matter where you are, I’ll come.”

Jason pocketed the cash and, more reluctantly, the number. He stared at Bruce in disbelief. “You’re not gonna stop me?”

“I can’t,” Bruce admitted. “I don’t want you to go but, I know if I force you to stay, you’ll run away. I know, even if you don’t, that like everything else, you need to come back willingly. And I’ll always wait for you, Jason.” Without waiting for a reply, Bruce stepped towards Jason and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling him in close enough that he could rest his nose on his scalp.

Jason stiffened under his grip, but then relaxed and pulled his own arms around Bruce. He rested his cheek on Bruce’s shoulder and, for a second, Bruce thought he was going to agree to stay. That was until he pulled away, pulling his bag over his shoulder. “Bye Bruce,” he said quietly.

Bruce fought his exhausted body very hard to stay composed. He memorised Jason’s withdrawn face and prayed it wasn’t the last time he saw him. “Take good care of yourself.” Jason just nodded stiffly and began to turn, when Bruce remembered one thing. The one thing he had needed Jason to know that night in the cave before he ran and what he’d prayed he’d known when Bruce believed him dead. “I love you, Jason,” Bruce called out. Because he didn’t think he had said it enough. Over the last how many years, he had thought day in and day out that Jason had died not believing it.

Jason stopped, but he didn’t turn around.

“Please. Take good care of yourself,” he said again quietly, squeezing his fists together on either side of him, to stop himself from lunging out and pulling him back to the car. _And come back,_ he added silently.

Jason seemed to nod again and kept walking, far away from Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some of you may have noticed that I added a series tag to this. Don't get too excited just yet. After I finish this I'm gonna take a break and flesh out something that I really want to write about in Arkhamverse and this story is going to expand. My fingers have been twitching to write something long and I think this is going to be it.
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please review. If you didn't enjoy it, tell me that too. Most importantly - give me a heads up on any mistakes.


	8. Purgatory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Bruce has been awake for long enough...

Bruce drove around Durango until late evening, hoping Jason would call him. By the time Bruce had gotten back into his car after their farewell, Jason had disappeared on the streets amongst the people. But he still held out hope that Jason would call him. That he’d want to come back.

So he drove, winding around the streets. No doubt if he called someone – Alfred, Clark, Selina, Lucius – they could tell him where the closest mercenary tavern was and Bruce could follow Jason, but he wouldn’t crowd him. The blow the gut that morning had proven just how on edge Jason was and the only way Bruce had ever been able to get through to him when he was that far gone was to let Jason come to him first.

It was how he got him to go back to the Manor with him when he was just a kid. By backing off and making it Jason’s choice to follow. Same when he had nightmares. Bruce never asked him about them, just made sure he always knew he was there to talk. Of course, he was a kid then and Bruce was the first person who had shown interest in him for doing good. And Jason had always only ever wanted to do good.

“Dad?” Jason was twelve and had rubbed his eyes one morning as he woke up. It was after one of the nights Bruce woke up to find him on his bed, trying to sleep after a nightmare. Bruce had collected him and tucked him under the covers, beneath his arm. As it always happened when either Dick or Jason (and later Tim) called him ‘Dad’ instead of ‘Bruce’, his heart skipped a beat and a smile threatened to spread out over his face.

Jason was half squinting at Bruce and scrunched up his nose. He was pale. Shaking. Even with Bruce, holding him to his chest, he’d had another nightmare. “Are you okay, Jay?” Bruce asked. But Jason just shook his head, eyes watering. “It’s okay. You can go back to sleep. Nothing will hurt you here.”

Jason shook his head again though and sleepily huffed, “I… I had a nightmare. A really… It was bad.”

Bruce raised his eyebrow. “Want to talk about it?”

He thought about it and shook his head a third time and he curled back against Bruce’s chest, squeezing his eyes shut. Bruce sighed and ran a hand down Jason’s back, pulling him closer. “That’s fine. If you want to keep sleeping, I’ll tell Alfred to make breakfast later. I know when I have nightmares it feels like I haven’t slept at all.”

Jason opened his eyes again, tilting his head back to look up at Bruce. “You have nightmares?”

Bruce nodded. “All the time. Nightmares are just your fears and bad memories making themselves known in your dreams. I have a lot of both.”

The frown on his face was fascinating because Bruce knew that face. It was the one Jason made when he thought an adult was lying to him and treating him like a little kid. In some ways, Jason was the oldest child Bruce had ever met. Dick had been twice as mature as Jason when he’d first arrived, but nowhere near as serious. But in a lot of other ways, Jason still had some childish delusions. Like that Bruce was always a superhero. As Bruce Wayne, and as Batman. That he was infallible. That he wasn’t just a man. “Everyone has nightmares, Jay. They’re your brain's way of dealing with that fear.”

Jason moved close again. “Mine are memories.”

“Of what?” Bruce asked.

Jason spoke in a small voice. “Of this kid. Tommy. He lived in the apartment across and… He was kidnapped. By these guys who wanted to make… movies with him.” Bruce tightened his grip on Jason’s back. “I was a block away. I saw him get taken and I followed them but… I couldn’t break into the apartment building. So I waited. Staked the place out. A week later, the cops broke in and found him but it was too late by then. They’d already hurt him. Last night, when we were running through Crime Alley, I heard Tommy died. Drugs.”

Bruce hugged Jason closer. “How old was he?”

“Ten?” he guessed. “When it happened… I guess he’s Dick’s age now.”

Bruce sighed, closing his eyes. He always hated when they were children because he could see Dick, Jason and later Tim in each of them. Girls, boys, fully grown adults, after he met with the parents they’d left behind; all kids were his own. It only got worse after he thought Jason was dead. “You can’t save everyone, Jason. And you were just a kid, with no training and no backup. I know, it’s horrible but it wasn’t your fault.”

Jason huffed, sleepily. “You blame yourself for everything. Why can’t I?”

He smiled sadly to himself at how smart Jason was. He couldn’t believe, in that second, how the Todd’s could have hated him. “Because I’m Batman. Batman has the weight of the world on his shoulders. But Robin’s need to be light and quick. Guilt is too a heavy burden to carry when you’re a Robin.”

Jason hummed. “But one day, when you get grey like Alfred, I’ll be Batman… And you’ll be Alfred and Alfred can retire and play golf.” He smiled teasingly, but beneath it all was absolute honesty. Jason had thought about it long and hard and he wanted to Batman more than anything.

Bruce didn’t want that for Jason. Didn’t want him to become Bruce, but it was still a nice sentiment. That all Jason wanted to be in his life was Bruce. “Where’s Dick in this little fantasy of yours?” he asked, trying not to make him upset.

Jason chuckled. “He can be Superboy, seeing as he _lurves_ Uncle Clark so much. I’ve seen his pyjamas. We both know he’s Dick’s favourite.” Bruce just smiled as Jason snuggled closer to his chest. “You’re mine though. Batman… I always loved Batman.” He fell asleep peacefully with those words and Bruce hoped he could keep the nightmares at bay.

In the present, Bruce decided to find a motel and sleep around midnight. He would give Jason until morning because he knew how easy it would be for him to get a job by then. He checked in, paying on a card under his fake ID and trudged up the two flights in what looked more like a townhouse than a motel, before crashing on the bed.

 _If he doesn’t call by morning, then I’ll go,_ he told himself.

Bruce had never slept with his phone clutched so tight in his hand before.

* * *

Talia’s house in Mazatlán was beautiful. It was more like a mansion, fenced off by a high wall and electric gate, white painted terracotta tiles, and Spanish balconies. It wasn’t in the town itself, but fifteen minutes outside of it, on a hill with a twisting staircase to the beach in the backyard. Out the front was a small fountain that had dried up in the middle of a turnabout driveway and a short staircase led to the iron cast double front door.

When Bruce had first learnt of the property, he had wanted nothing to do with it. The property rights and the keys had been delivered to him via courier from a lawyer who oversaw Talia’s estate a week after her death. It was all in a fake name, of course, that was linked to Bruce but not to Bruce Wayne. He’d ignored it, but now he needed it. It was the one place he had where no one could find him. Not even Alfred knew of its existence.

He parked the car outside the steps, ignoring the two-door garage, and used the keys to get in and pin to deactivate the alarm. Inside was just as nice as the outside. The first room was a grand entrance, circular with three doorways and a staircase that wound around the walls. White tiled marble and shelves built into the design, and all of them were filled to the brim with books and artefacts. There were swords and weapons too, from every century and geographical location.

He left his bags there and walked into the room on the left. It was a sitting room with two very proper and upright sofas on either side of a coffee table, all covered in drop sheets. He wandered into the next room that was more of a living room, with more bookshelves filled to the brim, lounges big enough to be beds, Persian rugs, a large television and a view of the beach off a balcony, all the way up to the town. The next room was a dining room, a table that fit eight and a double-door decorated with intricate carvings of flowers and vine work. It led to a state of the art kitchen, large enough to be an apartment on its own, with a butler’s pantry, a double fridge and a sitting area of its own. Another door in the kitchen went into a laundry. There was a deck off the kitchen that had stairs to a courtyard and another off the living room.

From there courtyard off the kitchen, he found a room beneath the house and, of course, Talia had set up a gym with training mats and more modern versions of the weapons on display upstairs. Chakrams, bō’s and staff’s, meteor hammers, swords, stars, daggers, blades. It was impressive and it was all, heartbreakingly, Talia.

He left the gym and took his bags upstairs where the bedrooms were. There were eight of them to be exact, spread out over two levels – two masters with en-suites, four that shared two adjoining bathrooms, a study with a foldout couch, and a proper guest room, all with their own balcony. _Who did you think was going to live here, Talia?_ He couldn’t ask her. Not anymore.

He threw his bags into the walk-in closet of one of the masters, filled with clothes and accessories all roughly Bruce’s size but to Talia’s taste, then stopped. On the back wall of the closet was a picture, no bigger than a postcard, in a wooden frame, of Shakespeare. Bruce walked slowly across the room and touched the photo frame. He carefully slid it over and, sure enough, behind it was a button. Bruce pressed it and the back door of the closet slid open with a plume of dust and the hiss of an airlock.

He took a step back. Slowly the walls opened revealing a version of his Batsuit and cowl sitting on a clear mannequin. It was mostly the same, except missing all the upgrades he’d made in the last year. It wasn’t what made his heart stop though. It was the second suit, beside it.

It was missing a cape, but it was clearly a feminine shape, made of Kevlar and leather that would have wrapped perfectly around Talia’s figure. On the mannequin’s face was a domino mask and across the chest painted in white, a bat symbol.

 _This was for us,_ he thought to himself. _You wanted both of us to escape, didn’t you?_

Then Bruce could see it. Alfred would have taken the second master. Dick and Tim – or Dick and Jason, depending on when she made the plans – could have shared rooms. It gave them enough space to have the kids she had spoken about with him. Mazatlán was no Gotham, but Mexico had enough crime to keep them occupied and it was only an hour plane ride to Torreón where there was a Wayne Tech he could check up on for Bruce Wayne’s sake.

It was for them to be a family.

He closed the hidden room and went back to the bed, flopping down and promptly passing out on the sheets that smelled like the smoke the assassins used to disappear, and lilies.

 _Talia,_ was his last thought before he fell asleep.

* * *

Seven bedrooms, a guest room, a study, two living rooms, a dining room, a kitchen, an entrance and gym were a lot harder to clean than Bruce thought. He felt a begrudging respect for Alfred who had kept the mansion tidy by himself all those years _and_ chased Bruce around Gotham. He was glad he left Alfred a substantial portion of Wayne Enterprise. He would never have to work again with that.

It took him a week to make the mansion liveable – apparently, the one thing Talia hadn’t stocked the house with was cleaning supplies which he’d only figured out after scouring the kitchen, bathroom and all three empty linen closets. Then again, neither of them had ever been very domestic or thought about that stuff. Bruce wouldn’t even know what a vacuum cleaner looked like if Alfred hadn’t used cleaning as a punishment whenever Bruce snuck out.

Bruce was sure he’d overspent when he’d bought all the cleaning stuff home. Then again, he’d never given Alfred a budget for anything – more often than not, Alfred gave Bruce budgets. Walking through the cleaning supplies section at the grocery store had been a foreign experience. Actually, walking through the produce aisle hadn’t been that much better. It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t know how to cook. It was just that he’d normally just looked through the pantry and used whatever they had, or he’d order it online. How the food got from the store to the mansion never bothered him.

 _I need to send a letter to Alfred and thank him,_ he had thought.

When the mansion was fully stocked and rid of the extra layer of dust, Bruce started to fall into a routine. Waking up in the morning’s, checking his phone for messages from Jason – mostly from Selina giving him updates when she felt like it – and going for a run on the beach. He would come back, practice meditations and fighting techniques in the gym. He’d make breakfast and read one any one of the thousands of books until lunch. He inquired about getting internet and a phone line installed in the place – he had all the gear, but Talia had never connected them to a local telecommunications service. He’d check up on Gotham. His sons. Try to plan a way to return and not give up his secret identity. But he was still a wanted man.

From what he’d found in newspapers, James was running for Mayor, but voting was another three months away. Dick and Tim were cleared of any suspect of being vigilantes. From what Bruce could tell from the photographs, Roy and Wally donned the suits for a night while Dick and Tim were under interrogation. Conner and Kara were with them apparently because reports of Superboy and Supergirl in Gotham were everywhere. He wondered if Clark had told them he was alive.

 _I will contact you when the boys are no longer under investigation,_ Alfred had told him. _Until then, trust that I will take care of them from afar._ Alfred was the only person Bruce would trust with the boys. Maybe Clark– No. Not Clark. He’d done that once and Dick had come back on a sugar high from ice cream. Martha Kent and Lois were a different story, however.

To be honest, Bruce was getting antsy. He’d never been so stagnant in his life. A part of him was looking for an excuse to don the Batsuit hiding in the closet. He wanted to be Batman again, but it was still too soon.

He was also checking the news of other places. Mostly in South America, but Europe and Africa too. He was trying to find evidence of Jason. Now that he knew what he was looking for – mercenaries donning a red helmet – he could follow him. Keep an eye on him.

But there was nothing. When he got a secure connection on his phone, he slipped into the Justice League computers undetected, and there was nothing was reported there either. Every evening, he went for a drive and the exits to the highway that led back to Durango called for him. Another that would lead back to America and, eventually, back to Gotham, played a different tune, but it was just as sweet.

 _Wait,_ he thought. _Patience. Work on patience._

It was a fortnight after he’d left Jason outside the Cathedral when Bruce, watching mindless drivel on television – _how do people watch this?_ – heard his phone ring. He always had it charged, always kept it on him but somehow, this time for the first time, the thing had fallen between the couch pillows and Bruce had to scramble, yanking up cushions to find it.

When he looked at the number, it was one he didn’t recognise and it wasn’t from the States.

He answered and put it to his ear. “Jason?” he answered.

From the other side of the phone, there was no voices, only excited shouting and music. “Jason?” he called out again, panic seizing at him.

“Dad?” The tiniest voice came through. It was followed by a shaking cough. It was him. There was no doubt it was him and he was in pain. “I need… Please come get me?”

Bruce was already heading towards the door. “Where are you?” he demanded.

Jason didn’t reply straight away. “Um… I don’t know. I just… I woke up here. I’m still in Durango… I think…”

“Are you somewhere safe?” Bruce was in the car and was unsure if he had locked the front door to the house. He knew he’d left the lights and television on but that stuff didn’t matter. “Jason?” He shouted when the silence went on too long. He turned on the car was and peeling out of the drive.

“Dunno… Just… too loud. I got into a fight… drunk. I mean… It’s a fight club. I’m at the fight club. But I’m drunk. Very drunk.”

Bruce sighed. “Just stay where you are and leave your phone on. I’m coming.”

“‘Kay…” Jason mumbled and then there was quiet. Bruce could hear him breathing and he must have passed out. Bruce cursed and hung up the phone, dialling Selina. She picked up on the second ring.

“What?”

“I need you to trace the last call made to my phone. Now,” he snapped.

“Jason?” she asked, having kept up with him through their various chats. He could already hear her getting on her computer on the other end.

“Yeah.” Bruce felt something snap beneath his fingers and looked to see the stitching on the steering wheel had ripped apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the reviews. I am going to reply to you all, but I'm supposed to be doing an assignment right now.


	9. El Centauro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wrote the Spanish in English… I give up.

Bruce made the three-hour journey to Durango in a little over two. He was lucky he’d filled up the car that morning or he would have had to make an anxious stop for fuel.

When he got to the main part of the city, he followed the instructions Selina had given him and he had memorised, to a tavern.

It wasn’t in the nicest part of the world. There were newer buildings there, but more cheaply made and closely packed together. The tavern he was looking for wasn’t the kind of place Bruce was happy to find one of his sons. Outside of it were rows of motorbikes, parked in all corners of the street, and the leather-clad men with gang tattoos up and down their arms didn’t quite instil _safe place_ , in Bruce’s mind.

But it was the last place Jason’s phone had pinged and Selina assured him he hadn’t moved. She’d done some digging and told him there was a fight club in the area but couldn’t confirm if it was the bar or not. Looking at it, Bruce was quite certain it couldn’t be anywhere else.

He parked across the street and went into the establishment. It was much smaller on the inside than it appeared on the outside and the moment he stepped in, every head in the bar turned and stared. Of course, Bruce looked out of place. In a pair of slacks and a white polo shirt he’d found amongst the things that Talia had bought for him. He looked like a rich holiday goer who had gotten lost.

Appearances didn’t matter and Bruce couldn’t give a damn whether or not people recognised him. He scanned the place and couldn’t see Jason anywhere, but he did see three doors – two bathrooms and a third with no sign. _Fight club,_ Jason had said. Bruce went to the bar. There sat an older Mexican man, with teardrop tattoos under his eye and a single gold tooth replacing a canine. “I’m looking for the fight club,” Bruce said in Spanish.

The man didn’t look surprised or worried or anything, really. He looked like he didn’t care what Bruce knew, or what he was there to do. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied. “But I do know you should leave. Now.” His eyes flickered around the bar and Bruce looked behind him.

Some of the men outside had come in and a few of the ones inside had stood up, all of them watching Bruce with a keen eye. Bruce knew they were there. He didn’t care. “I’m looking for a boy,” Bruce said, ignoring them. “American. Black hair. Blue eyes. My height with a J on his face.”

The bartender’s eyes flickered to the door without a sign and back to Bruce. “I haven’t seen any boy like that.” He picked up a glass from one of the other patrons and started to clean it. “Now leave.”

Bruce glared at him in the way he saved for criminals when he wore the cowl. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to take him home. Where is he?”

The bartender nodded to someone behind Bruce. He sensed the hand coming for him and before it touched his shoulder, he twisted around, grabbed the bikie by the wrist. He twisted his arm behind his back, dislocating his shoulder and slammed him face first on the bar. The man screamed out and the bar fell silent, an old Mexican song playing on the jukebox. “Where. Is. He?”

The barkeeper narrowed his eyes but looked around the room. He nodded again and four men ran to attack Bruce. He was glad he kept training in Talia’s gym and running on the sand, because, without his armour, he was quicker than ever. He twisted around and broke the first man’s nose with the palm of his hand and his leg with a swift kick to the shin. The second tried grabbing him by the shoulder, but Bruce slammed his other arm into his solar plexus and kneed him in the gut, dropping him to the beer-soaked carpet. The third and fourth tried attacking Bruce together but he leapt over them and grabbed them both from behind, slamming their heads together.

He huffed and glared at the barkeeper. “I don’t think you understood me. That boy is my _son_. _I_ trained him. I’m going to guess you’ve seen him fight. I’m better than him _and_ I’m sober _and_ I’m pissed off. Now are you going to let me through, or am I going to have break all of your bones?”

The bartender sneered. Bruce saw his hand reach under the bar for, most likely, a shotgun, but Bruce jumped across the bar feet first, kicking him in the head and knocking him to the ground. He took the shotgun for himself and aimed it at the barkeeper’s head, and though he heard at least ten safety clicks behind him, the barkeeper put his hands above his head. “Let him go in,” he growled out. “You go, get him and leave.”

“That’s all I wanted,” Bruce snapped. He put the shotgun on his shoulder for safe measure, glaring at the leather-clad men who stared at him with worried frowns. He would never use it, but these men didn’t know that. When he walked into the backroom, there was a long dark hall before he entered what looked like a garage. People of all shapes, sizes and colours, clad in biker leathers were cheering the thumping claps of skin on skin. The room was so thick of people, Bruce could barely see the fight taking place in the middle of a floor to ceiling cage. Money and tickets were waving in the air, and the air was thick with the stench of blood. No one paid Bruce any mind as he lowered the gun and skirted around the edges.

He slipped his way in further, holding the shotgun against his body to see the fighters. An African and a Mexican were in the middle of the cages battling it out as the bikers around Bruce egged them on. He watched quietly. There were no gloves. No rules. Blood splattered the cement and the place smelt like sweat and death. The room reminded him of a meat locker, only it was hot enough to be a furnace.

Bruce scanned the crowd but Jason wasn’t there. He did spot someone who looked a bit more like hired muscle than anything else and he moved through the crowd towards him. He looked Bruce up and down and his eyes fell on the shotgun, but he didn’t raise an alarm. “I’m looking for my son. American. He’s here and he’s injured.”

The guy didn’t argue, just nodded towards where there were boxes of alcohol stacked to the ceiling. “Infirmary is over there,” he said. “There’s a _gringo_ back there, somewhere. He got knocked out early tonight. Usually, he wins.”

“Thanks.” The word _usually_ , didn’t give him comfort. He walked through the crowd and his eye caught a chalkboard of names. They were all in Spanish but Bruce could read. His eyes followed down the board but stopped when he read the name _Jota_ near the top. He had great odds to win but he could see his old score rubbed out. Whatever had happened that night had knocked down his betting price. People who lost money to a sure win were going to try and kill him.

Bruce pushed that thought away and walked around the boxes. There was an open space where a few cots had been set up and a man was looking over the injured. Bruce ignored them all, eyes zeroing in on a familiar brown leather jacket draped over a body and a clunky duffle bag beside the bed. He rushed over, settling the shotgun on the side of the cot and manoeuvred Jason onto his back.

His face was black, blue, purple and yellow and half covered by a rough beard. Some of his fingers were in splints but were loosely holding a burner phone. Gently, he took his jacket off his chest and saw a wife beater beneath that revealed a strapped shoulder and a bloodied bandage where his stitches had opened.

Bruce touched his fingers to Jason’s tender and swollen neck and pressed them to his pulse. It was slow but there. “Wake up,” Bruce whispered, shaking him the slightest bit, careful of his injuries. “Come on, Jay. Wake up.”

He didn’t wake up but he did groan and turn his head towards him. Bruce cursed and looked up as the man who was tending to the other patients walked over to him. “You know this kid?” he asked, in English with a thick American accent.

Bruce nodded and touched Jason’s cheek where it was swollen, maybe even fractured. “What happened to him?”

“Idiot got in the ring drunk tonight.” He was a doctor. Bruce could tell by the way he held himself. It reminded him of Leslie’s poise when she was treating him. He had blonde hair, blue eyes and looked like the white collar criminals he'd left back in Gotham. Bruce didn’t like to think of what he was doing so far from home. “I try and tell Alejandro not to let them in drunk, but he says it’s more entertaining.” The man scoffed. “Anyway. He was reigning champion until tonight. Lost a lot of people a lot of money and got beaten double for it. I got Imaso to help me bring him back. He needs to rest.”

“I’m taking him home,” Bruce said, glaring up at the doctor, daring him to question him. But he didn’t. He just dug into his pockets and pulled out a bottle of pills.

“He’s gonna need this.”

They said painkillers but Bruce had his own medicines back at the mansion and wasn’t going to trust anyone who worked with the people who had let his son get so badly injured. He handed them back. “I’m good.” He pulled Jason’s bag over his shoulder and his jacket back over Jason’s chest. Then, carefully, Bruce lifted Jason up into his arms. His head limply fell against Bruce’s shoulder and one of his arms hung loosely out.

The doctor walked over and carefully tucked that arm against Jason’s chest. “His ribs are pretty bad, but they were like that on the first night. He has a pretty high pain tolerance. Made the injuries worse. I’m worried about a concussion, but that bruising on his face is nothing more than swelling. He was lucky he was drunk or he would have gotten back up and probably broken it. Or they would have killed him. I’ll give you an ice pack.”

“I can treat him. I have experience in this sort of thing,” Bruce said as the doctor went to the mini fridge.

The doctor raised his eyebrow and settled the ice pack on Jason’s face. “I’m guessing this isn’t the first time he’s done this to himself.”

“It’s the last time.”

The doctor smiled grimly. “He’s a fighter, my friend. I’ve seen many boys turn into men in my life, and once they become fighters, it’s almost impossible for them to be anything else. That’s why they end up here.” He nodded to the other cots, some of them filled with other men in various states of injury. But when he looked back at Bruce, something flickered in his eyes. A passing note of recognition. “You’re a fighter too, I see. Like father, like son.”

“Not if I can help it.” Bruce adjusted Jason in his arms. “Thank you. For taking care of him. I’ve got it from here.”

The doctor pulled out a card from his front pocket and slid it into Bruce’s hand. “If you need anything, please call. It’s rare to find a father who cares that much in a place like this.”

With that, Bruce left the fight club and the tavern and carefully piled Jason back into the passenger’s seat of his car. No one bothered him as he left and he was grateful. He didn’t want to fight anyone. Not while Jason was so prone. After sliding Jason’s buckle carefully over his chest, he pushed his sweaty hair off his face and his head fell to the side. His eyes fluttered open from the jolt. “Dad?” he croaked.

It was the second time in a night Jason had called him that. “It’s me, Jay. I came.”

“Sorry…” He fell unconscious again and Bruce swallowed back the hurt. He pushed some of the mitt stubborn strands of Jason's hair back again and pressed their heads together for a moment.

He was with him. He was safe. Now it was Bruce’s chance to make him better.


	10. Just say the word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Final Chapter...

As soon as Bruce got Jason back to the house, he took him upstairs to one of the rooms Talia had set up for the boys. Even though they weren’t as grand as Bruce’s room, they still had a bathroom and walk-in closet each, and Bruce had found clothes of many different sizes, from small children to fully grown men, in all the closest.

He laid him out on the double bed and took off his clothing, leaving his boxer briefs on to save his dignity, and tucked him under the covers. He only left him alone to look for Epsom salts – while there had been a distinct lack of cleaning supplies, medical equipment could be found in every room. He ran him a hot bath and poured in the salts and something the smelt vaguely medicinal that said _bath_ on the front. It filled the tub up with soap bubbles which, he figured, couldn’t be a bad thing. Under the sink was a shower hose he could connect over the tap and he attached it all, letting it hang over the bath before he went back into the bedroom.

Jason was filthy. He looked like he was living on the streets. On the top of his duffle was his helmet, and the same t-shirt Bruce had left him in. Apart from a long sleeve – which was equally as dirty as Jason – that was all he had. The jeans were the same he’d left him in and the same ones he’d worn in Gotham. He had thought Jason would have taken the clothes he slept in, in Metropolis, but he was wrong.

“Jason,” Bruce shook him gently and he roused himself just the slightest bit. “I’m going to put you in the bath. We can’t let anything get infected.”

Jason stared at him like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He blinked at him and nodded, pushing himself up onto his elbows but almost collapsed. Bruce caught him with an arm around his back and helped him out of bed gently.

He shuffled to the bathroom, leaning heavily on Bruce and laid his head on Bruce’s shoulder. “I’m gonna throw up,” he mumbled and his body started to lurch. Quickly, Bruce turned him to the toilet and guided him down until he could throw up without hurting himself. Although looking at his ribs, he was probably aching anyway.

It was all just alcohol, no food in sight and Jason did look like he’d lost a fair amount of weight, which was dangerous considering he’d only been gone two weeks. When his stomach was empty he fell limply against Bruce and breathed heavily, almost gasping. “Jay,” he ran his hand through Jason’s greasy hair and felt him shudder.

“M’kay… Just cold…” he mumbled, eyes barely open. He felt clammy and Bruce hoped he wasn’t going into shock.

“The tub is hot,” he said. He turned the heat lamps in the bathroom on and decided, once he got Jason settled in the bed, he would go get the small heaters. “Come on. Let’s get you up.” He helped Jason to stand again and tried hard to ignore the way he trembled as Bruce helped him climb into the steaming bathtub. He settled him down and Jason sighed in relief as the hot water worked on his injuries.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Bruce grabbed a cloth and shower gel and held it to him. “Wash as much as you can. I’ll get your hair and back.”

Jason groaned. “You don’t have–”

“Can you reach behind your back or lift your arms?” Bruce asked.

Jason swallowed, eyes still half closed and shook his head. “No.”

“Well then, don’t argue.” Bruce left with that and found a couple of small portable heaters in one of the linen closets, next to yet another first aid kit. Domestic goddess, she was not, but Talia knew everything they needed to treat injuries. He put two in the bedroom, heating it up, and then took a third into the bathroom, turning it on. Jason’s underwear was up on the soap rack, soaking wet and he was half-heartedly washing his body, an exhausted look on his face. Bruce grabbed a towel to kneel on.

“Can you sit up?” Bruce asked.

Jason nodded and shifted forward, knees bent up and head resting on them. He just held out the cloth and soap for Bruce to take. He stared at Jason’s back. There weren’t as many injuries there from the fights – some fresh bruising on his shoulder and some bruising from his ribs that had spread around to his back – but there were scars from old injuries. Stabbings, bullets, _whips_ … He found himself squeezing the cloth so tight he wrung all the soap and water out of it.

Jason didn’t seem bothered by it, or maybe he was too far gone to notice. So Bruce washed him, using small circular motions to clean the skin of all the grime and used the hose to rinse off the suds. He took off Jason’s bandages on his arms and torso too; it was easier when they were wet and couldn’t stick to the blood. There was a knife wound on his side and another cut on his arm. “They let you use weapons in the ring?”

“Anything but guns,” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat and spoke, more in his voice own than the tired one. “I never started with a weapon. But I always ended with one.”

“The doctor there said…” Bruce stopped himself. He didn’t want to scare Jason off but he looked over at him. He had tears clotted on the end of his lashes and Bruce wanted to brush them away but didn’t want Jason to freak out. He stroked his hair back off his face as a happy medium. “He said that you were lucky you went unconscious. That they could have killed you. Were there death matches?”

Jason nodded. “You fight until someone is knocked out, forfeits, or dies.”

Bruce got up and sat on the edge of the bathtub. He got the shampoo and conditioner from where he’d left it earlier on the bathtub side. He poured some shampoo in his hand and started working it into Jason’s hair. “Aren’t you gonna ask?” Jason piped up as muddy grease slid down his back.

Bruce played dumb. “Ask what?”

“Fuck, Bruce,” Jason whispered. “Are you gonna make me say it?”

“I don’t know–”

“Did I kill someone? Aren’t you gonna ask if I fought someone to the death? If I killed some poor idiot for the money? Cause he thought he beat me and wouldn’t just _stay down?_ ” He was getting angry, squeezing his fists by his side. “Aren’t you gonna ask if I’m a monster?”

Bruce kept his hands in Jason’s hair, scrubbing two, almost three weeks of sweat and grease from his hair. “Tilt your head back,” Bruce said. Jason obeyed and looked up at Bruce, eyes filled with tears. He rinsed out his hair with warm water and, when all the suds were gone, rinsed his hands. “Did you? Kill someone?”

Jason squeezed his eyes shut, tears sliding down the side of his face. “He wouldn’t stay down… I tried to walk away but they kept saying, it was the rules. I thought… I thought if I kicked him in the head, he would… But he didn’t wake up.” He sobbed and shook, curling back in on himself and ducking his head into his arm.

Bruce sighed and moved to the edge of the bathtub, wrapping his arm around Jason’s chest and pulling him back against his stomach. He didn’t care that he was getting wet, or that the water sloshed out of the bath and onto the floor. Jason was in a dark place. The darkest. Nothing was more important than that. Bruce tried hushing him as he cried into his arms. “It’s going to be okay, Jason.”

“It’s not,” Jason sobbed. “Nothing is. I’m so fucked up… I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I thought you hated me until… Until you said that _stupid_ thing about Joker and then… I don’t know.”

“What thing?” Bruce asked, a frown on his face.

Jason wiped his nose on the back of his arm. “When you stopped me. In Killinger’s. You said the Joker got to both us and… And I didn’t think he did. I thought I was stronger but… But I was in Arkham City. I was following you that night and…” Jason looked back up at him. His voice had turned small again. Coming out in whispers and broken sobs. “Joker found me. We fought and, I tried killing him, but he won. He called me his ‘Plan J’. He said you weren’t looking for me. He said you stopped caring, but you were so surprised when you saw me… And I just kept thinking… Maybe he was under my skin… And tonight you found me… You came and you helped me. He was lying. I knew he was lying, but I couldn’t remember it.”

The scar on his face stood out, even amongst the bruises. Bruce took Jason’s face and stroked his cheek. “Is that why you saved me that night?”

Jason nodded, shutting his eyes again because he was unable to look at Bruce. “I couldn’t figure out if it was because of him I wanted you dead or not. I didn’t want to be his _anything_.”

“You’re not,” Bruce promised. “You didn’t kill me. You didn’t do what he wanted.”

“Yes, I did. He’s still making me hurt you. He still turned me into a monster.” Jason pulled away from Bruce, pressing his face into his hands again. “I killed so many people Bruce. Some of them didn’t even deserve it. I just killed them because I thought it felt good, but now I don’t know. God, I’m a monster. I’m a monster.”

“Monsters don’t feel guilty,” Bruce said. He slid down to the ground, back on his knees to get to Jason’s level and took his face back into his hand. “Monsters don’t get drunk and let themselves get beaten up to punish themselves.” Jason’s eyes turned to the ground as he confirmed his worse thoughts. Jason had been trying to get himself killed. “Someone died and that’s going to be on your conscious forever. But that’s exactly what stops you from being a monster.”

“I should be in Blackgate,” he whispered, frantically dragging his hands through his hair. “Or back in Arkham. You should lock me back up and throw away the damn keys.”

“I’ll never let that happen,” Bruce growled, fingers digging into Jason’s cheek and neck, probably more than he should have.

“I’m no hero, B. I don’t think I can be. Not anymore,” Jason confessed. His eyes had grown so hollow and lifeless; the blue had almost turned black.

“You don’t have to be. You can be whatever you want to. You have a second chance, to do the right thing. To have a normal life.”

He barked out his laughter, throat hoarse and stuck together with tears. “Normal? Honestly? Nothing in my life has ever been _normal_ Bruce.”

Bruce pressed his mouth into a hard line. “Let’s get you to bed. I want to look at your arm.”

Jason nodded and waited for Bruce to collect a towel for him. “There are clothes in the drawers. Pick out whatever you want,” Bruce said as he helped him stand. Jason got the towel around his waist and shuffled into the bedroom himself while Bruce emptied out the water dark and dirty water.

When he was alone he closed his eyes, resting his head on the side of the tub. He had to remind himself that he had forgiven others for killing like Jason had. Talia, Selina, Diana, Oliver, Dinah, Jim, _Alfred_. He wasn’t sure why it was harder that it was Jason. But if he didn’t forgive him, Jason was never going to forgive himself. He wasn’t going to return if Bruce didn’t hold his hand out. Jason was never the kid who ran into adult’s arms for safety. More often than not, that was where the danger laid. Bruce had to make the first move.

He watched the last of the water swirl down into the drain. It wasn’t going to be that easy to wash Jason clean of his guilt. Of all the torture he’d been through. But Bruce had to try. He owed it to Jason. He would never have been in that situation if it wasn’t for Bruce.

He went back into the room and Jason was wearing a loose pair of cuffed tracksuit bottoms without a t-shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed and carrying his head in his hands. “Lie down,” Bruce said gently as he got near.

“No,” Jason said. He looked up at Bruce, chin on his closed fists and stared at him. “I need to know what you’re going to do.”

Bruce wasn’t sure what he meant. “I’m going to clean your arm and re-bandage–”

“No.” Jason couldn’t raise his voice. Between the headache he clearly had, and the way his tear stained face and swollen throat were cutting off his vocal cords, he couldn’t sustain anything louder than a rasp. “After. After I heal. After you get out of your system whatever fatherly-bond you seem to want to have with me. When you realise I’m a fuck up and you hear all the shit I’ve done. For making the plan for The Siege and kidnapping Barbara and killing all those people – what are you going to do?”

Bruce stared at him. He hadn’t expected that question. He hadn’t even been thinking about… punishment. Jason was talking about a punishment.

“Nothing,” Bruce admitted. “I told you. I’m not sending you to Blackgate or the Asylum. You have a second chance.”

“But I don’t. I’ve had my second chance and this is what I’ve done with it. Turned into a villain.” Jason stood up, wavering the slightest bit. “And you’re Batman. You take down villains. I need to know where I stand. What you’re going to do with me. Then I can plan and focus on something. Something solid to work towards. I _need_ that.”

Bruce knew how he was feeling. He needed a plan too. The last two weeks, cleaning, reading and watching television, were driving him mad. For the first time since he was a child, he hadn’t known what he was working towards and it was a welcome relief to have Jason call and return. Then and there, he realised what he had been waiting to happen so he could return to Gotham. “We’re going to get better,” Bruce explained. Jason frowned and opened his mouth to object, but Bruce cut him off. “I can’t be Batman anymore. I can’t even be Bruce Wayne. But the peace in Gotham is only temporary and I’m not leaving it for Dick and Tim to fight alone, so I’m going to find a way to keep helping.

“And while I’m doing that, you’re going to get better too. You can’t be the Arkham Knight or Jason Todd either. You need to figure out who you’re going to be, without The Joker messing with your head. You need to heal and move on and I’m going to help you. Does that sound fair?”

Jason shook his head, his voice wavering as he held himself together the best he could. “It makes no sense. I’m not the good son. I’m not the one you forgive. I’m the one you argue with. The one you punish. Hell, B, the last time we spoke, you were clipping my Robin wings for thinking about killing The Joker! I’ve killed hundreds of people now and we’re just gonna move on? How can you, of all people, even look at me? I was never the one you were proud of. Now I’ve tried killing you and you keep calling me ‘son’!”

Bruce took Jason’s arms to hold him steady, lowering him back down to the bed. All the while, Jason stared at him desperately, waiting for some sort of answer. “I was never… I didn’t think…” Bruce closed his eyes, reigning in his thoughts. “I was always proud of you, Jason.”

“ _Was_ ,” Jason’s voice cracked.

“Am. I _am_ proud of you, Jason. You have done things I don’t approve of, and… I am not happy with you killing people and we can talk about that later but… You’re here. You’ve survived. You are a good person who has spent their entire life surviving. When you were a kid, you fought to survive. When you were Robin, you did everything you could to help others survive. Then, you did everything to survive and get out of Arkham. You went down a dark path with Joker and Slade, to keep what little bit of your mind you had left and now I’m telling you, you don’t have to survive anymore. Not anymore. Not now. Not with me. If you stay with me, I swear, son, you just have to live.”

Jason shuddered, teeth chattering together even though the heater was on. Bruce took the covers off the bed and pulled the covers over him. “Jason, tell me what you want to do.” Bruce needed him to say yes. He couldn’t force Jason, no matter what happened. Things would only get worse if he tried. He needed him to agree to be able to take care of him properly.

“Help me,” Jason whispered. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it folks. I know it’s not quite an end. I know Jason needs help and Bruce needs to figure shit out and Jason still has issues about everything, but I feel like that’s okay… ‘Speshially seeing as I’m thinking about writing more… a bit from Jason’s POV too :/
> 
> Please tell me what you think and if you have any specific things you want to see in a sequel.
> 
> Also, I'm taking a week off to do some stuff. Then you will get the next story.


End file.
